


Soft Shoulders

by cloudsweater



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (but don't worry about that right now ;)), (like they're kinda enemies not really lol), AU, Adam is mysterious (what else is new), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Sex, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gansey is kinda dumb (what else is new), Humour, I know banter is like a British term but thats what they do haha, I'm sure I'll think of other tags later but enjoy this for now!!, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Pining, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Summer Romance, adansey, and yearning, death mention, most of it is very bantery and soft I promise lol, there's admittedly quite a lot of pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsweater/pseuds/cloudsweater
Summary: Richard Gansey is a bored, passionless, uninspired college student. Hoping to regain some sense of youth, he visits his grandmother at her countryside home for the summer. There he meets Adam Parrish, his grandmother’s friend, gardener, and caretaker. Navigating feelings of jealousy and trepidation, the two eventually strike up a friendship, but as they spend more time together, they are forced to admit that perhaps they care for each other much more than either could have ever imagined.
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Adam Parrish
Comments: 22
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! I wrote this for the 2020 Raven Cycle Big Bang, and I'm so grateful for all the encouragement and inspiration I got because of it!! I really wanna thank Ari, my beta, and Flint, who did incredible art for the fic. I feel so fortunate to have had them on my team and work with such talented people! I truly know that I would not have written this much if it weren't for the big bang and the people involved, so thank you thank you thank you!!!
> 
> I'm really intrigued by Gansey and Adam's relationship, and feel like in the canon there are SO many factors which prevent them from being in an honest, truly realized relationship (and rightly so, as this tension is so vital to the plot). SO I made an AU where they meet under different circumstances! It's a very summery, soft, feely kinda story, and it made me so happy to write. If you're reading this, I hope it makes you happy too! Thank you!

This is not just surprise and pleasure. 

This is not just beauty sometimes 

too hot to touch.

This is not a blessing with a beginning

and an end. 

This is not just a wild summer. 

This is not conditional. 

_-_ Mary Oliver _, What This is Not_

* * *

**Prologue**

After the funeral, Adam went to the cornfields. 

It was his favorite time of day, when the sun was invasive and overpowering. Adam stopped at the fence and put both arms through holes in the wiring. He reached out and shook a husk of corn violently; a stream of dusty confetti, lit up orange, floated around. The blood-red sun was settling down, tucking itself in among the dirt on the horizon. It was a beautiful day. Too beautiful a day, he thought, for a funeral. But then again, sometimes his whole life just felt like a collection of days that shouldn’t really exist.

He didn’t want to go back to town. Back in town, there were apologies and pitying looks and sandwiches cut too perfectly in half. It was all too much. He wished the sun would just set already. Some proof of _something_ moving. He wished it would just be night. 

He hopped the fence. 

In the field, the mosquitoes enclosed him like water. He didn’t swat them – he found that made them worse. He let them bite. He hardly felt it, anyway. Good luck finding any blood in there, he thought, and even the bugs thought he was kind of a downer, so they let him be. The corn was harsh, tugging and yanking at his skin like fingernails.

Adam trudged on. 

When he got to what he deemed the middle of the field – a bald spot where the corn was sparse – he stopped. He looked around and then up, breathing deeply. The rustling and commotion he had caused behind him calmed. Adam let his head fall all the way back on his neck. He had read once that a human head weighs ten pounds. He thought about that a lot: how impossible it seemed that you could carry ten pounds of head every single day. If he concentrated hard enough, he swore he could feel each pound, begging, demanding release, to be let down, down, down. How long it takes for a baby to support its own head. How this thin neck of his could possibly bear all that. Today, his head felt impossibly heavy. Not any bigger, just so, so heavy. Ten pounds. Ten pounds. 

In his mind, he heard his father’s voice: _Jesus, Adam. Give it a fucking rest._

So he let it fall. 

First his head, then his whole body. He didn’t realize he had collapsed completely until all he could see was half pale dirt, half corn. He closed his eyes. He pressed all ten pounds of his head into the ground, dug his nails into the dry dirt as his hands began to shake. And in that moment, he hoped to God that he would never have to lift those ten pounds up again. 

* * *

_June. Five years later._

Gansey lifted his head from against the car window. 

He had fallen asleep, though he told himself he wouldn’t. He had never slept in the Pig before; he didn’t know that was possible. He pulled over when his eyes started to water and the map on his phone started to blur. The rest was blank. He shook his head, looking around. His phone was on the ground and then was a red mark on his nose from where his glasses had been pressed into his skin the whole night. There was a small amount of drool on his cheek, which he wiped with his palm as he threw open the Pig door. The road was as empty as it had been the night before. Gansey took off his glasses and pinched his nose, sighing deeply. 

Everyone (meaning his mother and Helen) had told Gansey not to make the laborious drive to Floribel, West Virginia with the Pig – there was a train that went straight from the city to the town’s station. But to Gansey, bringing the Pig was a necessity: proof of his seriousness about this trip. He had told his family that the fresh air, the openness, the solitude of his grandmother’s town would do him some good – _help me reorient myself and my priorities,_ he believed his words had been. Help him study. Gansey was quite taken with the idea of a wooden desk, poised in front of a window, notebook and B pencil positioned just so, summer breeze brushing his concentrated face. Gansey loved this fantasy. Very Emily Dickinson. Gansey lived in this fantasy his whole year at college, fled to it, trying to convince himself that a change of scenery is what would bring his passion back. His excitement back. His… well, _himself_ back. At least the parts of himself he actually liked.

Gansey shook his head and turned the keys in the ignition. The Camaro started instantly, like she was just waiting for Gansey to wake up so that they could just _go_ already. 

“There we go,” Gansey praised as he pulled back onto the empty road. He opened his window and let the cool air pummel him. He glanced over at his phone and saw he had two texts from Helen. He turned his ringer to silent. 

He didn’t need more of Helen’s badgering. More of Helen’s making sure he was nice to Gloria, gentle with Gloria, arrive on time because Gloria was oddly picky about her schedule and you’d know that about old people if you hung around them more, Gansey. Gansey didn’t need that. Gansey still didn’t feel right about this trip yet. He still felt like an imposition, even though Helen had insisted that Gloria _did_ wanted him to visit, desperately. 

“This is so typical of the male child,” Helen had said when Gansey first told her of his plans. “Don’t visit our grandmother for years, don’t talk to her, don’t send her gifts —”

Gansey tried to reason. “I send her—” 

“—and she _still_ adores you, _still_ wants you to come, still asks about you all the time when I’m there, which is three times as much as you, by the way, even though I have a real life and a real career, which is excuse enough not to visit her in the middle of ass-fuck _nowhere.”_

“It’s actually quite a charming little town.” 

“ _Don’t tell me it’s charming Gansey, I know it’s charming, I’ve been there.”_

Gansey had apologized to Helen many times, though he didn’t see how it was his fault. It’s not like he _wanted_ to be his grandmother’s favourite. Now he felt as though he needed to live up to some expectation, some image of a boy who Gansey had not been since he was fourteen. Now Gansey felt he was on a mission to deliver something, some essential _Ganseyness_ that he wasn’t even sure he possessed anymore. 

He stopped suddenly at a comically unnecessary stop sign; it was empty everywhere around him. Gansey sighed and fell back in his seat. He turned his head to the open window and suddenly smelled something that zipped him right back to youth: fresh-cut grass and manure. It was fairly disgusting, but it reminded him of how much he loved Floribel when he was younger — running around in fields with Helen, eating little red-waxed cheeses and Hersey’s kisses and fresh green beans. He remembered all at once why he wanted to return to Floribel: the simplicity of it, the way time didn’t seem to exist here. Gansey desperately wanted to return to that simplicity — or, if he couldn't find that particular simplicity, he just wanted to find a new one. One that reset him, plopped him right back on his feet again. That was all he wanted. He suddenly felt better, a childlike joy bolting through him at the idea of seeing his grandmother. See? Gansey smirked at himself. He could do this. He could do simple.

As he sped past the stop sign, he saw a cow, a singular cow, in a field. It struck Gansey as ridiculous, for there to be just a single cow there. But it made him glow. He knew he was going the right way. He felt an old feeling, the feeling he got the minute after they were let out of school for summer vacation. The abundance of time. The possibility. The very openness of it all. It made him expand from the inside out, and suddenly he was a child – reckless and without consequence. Without thinking, he stretched his head out the window and screamed happily, “HELLO, YOU ANIMAL!”

The cow, chewing grass, turned his head lazily towards him, unimpressed. 

Gansey laughed, turned back to the road, and sped on. 

  
  


* * *

“Adammm!” 

Adam lifted his head from the garden and held up one gloved hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He watched as Petunia ran towards him, her long hair tangling in the bead necklace she wore. 

“Hey, P.U. What’s up?”

The little girl held up one chubby finger, breathing hard, and he nodded, grinning at her as she caught her breath. She swallowed and said in a rush, “Miss G let me do twinkle twinkle today, and she said if I get good I can do it for the recital. It’s a duet.” 

“That’s really cool,” Adam said, trying to match her enthusiasm.

“It is. So will you do it with me?” 

Adam gulped a shocked laugh. “As a duet?” 

She nodded, noticing a bug bite on her shoulder and picking at it. 

“I would,” said Adam, “but I can’t play piano.”

“Miss G will teach you like she teaches me.” 

Adam threw down one glove. Petunia bent to pick it up because it was patterned with cartoon ladybugs with huge eyes.

Adam said, “I don’t think Mrs. G likes teaching me. She’s tried before. I’m terrible. Don’t touch that and then touch the piano,” he added, noticing her toying with the dirt-crusted part of the glove. “Gigi will kill me.” 

Petunia studied the glove before throwing it down the same way Adam had. He hid his grin as he took a sip of water. Petunia said, “I guess she did say she’d play the duet with me if I _really_ wanted to do it, so…” 

“There you go.” Adam stood up and started walking towards the house. Petunia flocked to his side and grabbed on his hand, swinging it. He gave her fingers a little shake, then looked around. “Your dad here yet?”

“I dunno.” She seemed unconcerned. After her piano lessons, she always ran to Adam, at first to ask him incredible amounts of pointless questions, and also probably to stall. But eventually, she started trying to help him — dragging the hose messily behind her as Adam watered the plants, digging little holes in the incorrect spot so that Adam could pour some seeds in there, tell her what and when they would grow. For some reason she really enjoyed him, and Adam liked her, too. He always seemed to forget he liked kids until he met another one. 

They rounded the corner and saw her father’s van in the driveway. Petunia ran to her father, arms outstretched. Her dad got out of the car and picked her up, then waved to Adam. Adam lifted a hand but turned away. He was a nice enough guy — he had managed to half-raise Petunia – but he was racist in a very boring, very typical-of-the-south kind of way. He hoped too much of it didn’t rub off on Petunia. But he didn’t worry that much. She was a smart kid. 

Adam watched the truck disappear from sight. 

The street by Gigi’s house was always empty: it was a dead-end, short, unpaved gravel road leading to a green and pale-yellow field beyond. No one ever came by, except Chester and the parents of children who took piano lessons from Gigi. And Adam. His old red pickup truck sat where it always did, in front of a small garage that was falling apart. Gigi always left that spot open for him. The grass was wilted underneath from all the use. Adam liked the sight of it. A place for him to always come back to. 

He entered the old farmhouse. 

Done with her lesson, Gigi was in the living room, painting. The living room used to have regular living room things — a couch, a TV, a huge sculpture of a horse made out of recycled metal — but all those things were now in the fallen red shed. Gigi had had Adam put plastic tarps all over the wood floors. Now it was her studio. She said the light was best in here, and she was kind of right. Two huge windows looked out into the field, and the high ceilings and open space was inspiring even to Adam. Gigi had put nothing in there but a huge armchair and an easel. Paint tubes scattered the floor like dominos. In the evenings Adam would usually collect them and put them neatly in a little bowl on the mantel, because he worried about Gigi’s dog, Sheryl, getting into them like she did last year. There had been a blue tinge around her little white furry mouth for weeks, and it took two trips to the vet to assure them she was fine. Adam thought Sheryl probably knew better now, but Adam was still careful.

Gigi sat in her chair, oblivious to Adam’s entrance because after her piano lessons were done she took out her hearing aids. She hated the things. 

“Did the girls, Miss G,” Adam said, loud enough so she’d hear, but not so loud that she’d be startled. She turned to him, placing her brush down. He showed her the basket full of eggs he had collected from the chickens outside. 

“Did they behave themselves?” she asked.

“More or less,” Adam replied. The chickens, no matter how many times he went in to collect eggs from them, never seemed to like Adam, and clucked and scattered at his very presence. One of Petunia’s favorite activities in the world was to watch Adam chase one particularly bad chicken around the yard, which was something Adam periodically did for her amusement. 

“ _Naughties,_ ” Gigi laughed. She loved the chicken’s shenanigans.

She turned back to her work – a sporadic blue color against lines of orange. She clucked to herself. “Adam? Adam. Would you come look at this? I simply can’t tell if it’s what I want it to be.”

Adam, wiping his hands on a towel she kept hanging for him on a doorknob, walked over. “I like it, ma’am,” he said honestly. 

“But do you _want it_? Do you need it?” 

“I– I don’t think I could afford it.” 

“Oh! Adam!” She gave a shrill laugh and gripped tightly onto his arm with one veiny hand. “Not money. Never that. I mean do you _want_ something else from it, something it’s just not giving you?” 

Right now, Adam kind of wanted the painting to let go of his arm. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I’m not that artistic.” 

“Hmmm.” She hummed in a nerve-racking way. “Yes, yes I suppose you’re absolutely right. Only the artist can know that, right? Right?” She looked at him with piercing eyes until he nodded hurriedly. “Right. Exactly. Okay. Well, just have Chester bring over some swatches when he’s finished. Some violets, perhaps.” She liked sometimes for Chester to take paint swatches from the hardware store so she could look through them for inspiration.

“Sure. Do you want Chinese tonight? Should I tell him to get stuff at Ling’s?” 

“No thank you, dear. Chester’s cooking tonight,” She put both hands on her knees, turned herself in the chair to look at Adam fully. “Now, I trust you’ll be joining us for dinner?”

“Thank you, but I can’t tonight.” 

“Are you absolutely positive?” She looked painfully at his stomach. “You need to eat well, Adam. You’re far too skinny.” 

This was a discussion they had had many times, and Adam didn’t care to repeat it. He walked to the sink she had installed and began washing the dried paint out of some brushes. 

“Just the runt of the litter,” he reminded her over his shoulder.

“Ha!” She threw her head back so forcefully Adam was worried she’d fall. “Adam!” She was thrilled by him. 

She went back to painting. They existed in content silence together for some time, until she said, “Oh, shame you can’t join us, too. Dicky gets in tonight.” 

Adam thought he’d misheard her. “Dicky?”

“Richard. You’ve met him, haven’t you?” 

_Richard._ Her grandson. She had told him Richard would be visiting months ago. Adam had completely forgotten. Adam had in fact never met him, and didn’t care to. 

“In that case, I’ll be out of your way,” Adam said.

“No! No, no, I wanted you two to meet. I think you’ll get along.” 

Richard was… not just someone you seemed to just _meet._ It seemed to Adam like Richard was the one to meet _you,_ or you hadn’t really met at all. Richard was the embodiment of all Adam disliked about the Gansey family: their huge amount of money, the casualness with which they spent it, and the ability to somehow subtly undermine its importance every chance they got. 

Richard, though he was related to Gloria, couldn’t be much like her, consider how much time he spent in her presence: none. And Adam had already picked Helen as his favorite Gansey grandchild — she came far more often and seemed a lot more interesting. He had heard Helen talk about Richard – his trips to Iceland for seemingly no reason, his weird business startups that somehow got televised. Adam couldn’t believe someone could be so frivolous. 

Adam did not think he and Richard would get along. Adam did not _want_ to be the type of person who got along with Richard. But he smiled at Gigi all the same. 

“Sure,” he said. “You’ll call me if you need anything?” 

“I’ll shout it from the rooftops.” She gave him one of her classic, big teeth, movie-star smiles. That was all he needed. He grinned back at her.

“Bye, dear!” She called out as he walked through the house. Adam left through the back-screen door like he always did, cradling it until it shut all the way, so it wouldn’t slam.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Gansey woke up the next morning to two things: a noise so loud it threatened to burst his head open, and the colour yellow. 

He decided to consider the yellow first. 

The room was yellow. Bright yellow. Lemon yellow. Police-tape yellow. Gansey was for a second grateful that he didn’t have his glasses on, because at least things were a bit blurrier. His compromised sight felt like a blessing. 

He had been weirdly tired when he arrived at his grandmother’s last night, so he had only really given her a kiss on the cheek and a few assurances about how good the ride was before he stumbled upstairs and fell into bed. He had not had time to consider the walls. Now they beamed at him in all their piss-glory. He could have sworn they had been beige last time he was here, or at least a calmer yellow. He wondered if Gloria ( _ Nana,  _ he reprimanded himself quickly,  _ must get back into the habit of calling her Nana)  _ had painted in here. He blinked into it again, a bit unbelieving. He didn’t think he’d get used to it. 

Luckily, he only had a minute to be discomfited by the visual aspects of the room before his attention was forced to the sound.

It was an immense roaring that encompassed the whole room, thick like fog. Gansey stumbled over to the window. Outside, below Gansey's window, one of the neighbors was mowing his lawn. He was wearing a red faded shirt with the white remnants of some logo and bulky industrial headphones over his baseball cap. 

It was six twenty-one in the morning. 

Gansey was all for early rising, but perhaps not rising  _ this noisily _ . The window was old and dusty and stuck, so Gansey spent a good minute wrestling it open. He yelled down to the guy to no avail, and then started waving his arms. It took the guy a good few minutes to notice him, then another few minutes to turn the mower off.

He held the headphones with both hands around his neck and looked up at Gansey, who was half leaning out the second-floor window. “Uh, hey,” the stranger said. 

“Hey indeed,” Gansey replied, shouting probably more than he needed too in the fresh silence, but his eardrums still rang, so it felt necessary. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but it’s still quite early, and I’m wondering if you could maybe bring it down a notch.” 

The guy blinked at him. “Bring it down a notch,” he repeated. 

“The sound. The machine? I really do apologize. Got in really late last night. I’m just back from college, still recovering from those horrific frat-boy party nights. Not the parties themselves, mind you. I mean the noise of it. Rattles the whole town. War memories, you know?” Gansey laughed a little. The guy did not. 

Finally, he asked, “You want me to stop?” 

“Just for an hour or so. Until me and my grandmother are up.” 

“You are up,” the guy countered. He started walking back to the lawn-mover and moving his gloved hands over it, working with it in some way Gansey didn’t understand. 

Gansey tried a gentler tone. “I just think we’d appreciate a little silence, just for a bit longer.” 

The guy didn’t look at him, started pulling at something on the machine. “You and your grandmother,” he said. 

Gansey nodded. “She’s elderly,” he offered, hoping that would convince him. 

Under the slanted shadow of his hat, Gansey saw the guy smirk, saw the gleam of one dull tooth. Gansey felt an uncertainty rise in him, but before he could ask anything more, the guy said, “I’ll just do this part later,” and started pushing the lawnmower around the corner. 

“Thanks so much!” Gansey called after him. He did not reply. 

Gansey grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and fell back into bed. But it was no use: the ringing had made its way down to his body, and he was fully awake. He was, in fact, as the man had so perceptively pointed out,  _ up.  _

As Gansey trotted down the stairs he saw that Gloria was up, too; she was sitting at the mahogany kitchen table with a cup of tea and a single piece of unbuttered toast. This was weird to see, for many reasons. The grandmother he remembered from childhood was this great, languorous entity, always behind closed doors, always smelling of sleep when she eventually arose for dinner. His parents were always shushing him and Helen:  _ Nana needs her rest.  _ That was how Gansey remembered her.  But she looked vibrantly awake now, as if she had been hibernating for all of Gansey’s childhood, but was now raring to go. 

Gansey straightened his back and skipped the last few steps towards the counter, reaching for a mug. “Good  _ morning,  _ Nana , _ ”  _ he said. 

Gloria looked up from a newspaper and smiled at him. Gansey noticed how different she looked without her makeup, how plain her mouth was without the dark red lipstick she usually wore.

“Morning, grandson. Dare I ask how the sleep was?” 

She had told Gansey his mattress was hard as rocks and promised to replace it, but Gansey hadn’t noticed. The lawn-mowing neighbor was more of a threat to his sleep than any mattress was. 

“Just fine, really.” 

“You promise?” She narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “I can take a complaint, I swear to you.” 

Gansey laughed and poured himself some coffee. “Really, Nana. Don’t bother changing it. It was perfectly acceptable.” 

Gloria clucked her discontent. She lifted her mug just below her smiling lips. “Just like Adam. He’s slept in it a few times and never will tell me if it hurts his back or not. I know it’s that blasted mattress. I just know it.” 

Gansey took his coffee and sat opposite her. The truth was, he didn’t know how to talk to her yet. Last time they’d spoken he’d been about fourteen. She spoke much differently now — her voice wasn’t as honeyed. She talked to him like an adult, like he hadn’t just arrived at her house last night for the first time in years. Already she was mentioning people Gansey didn’t know, as if he should know them. This Adam guy had come up at least thrice. 

Gansey felt stupid asking, but he did anyway: “Sorry, Adam is…?” 

She looked at him, her mouth unmoving. “Adam!” she said finally. “You know Adam.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t.” 

She put her tea down with a small clatter. “Oh, Dicky, you simply must meet him. He’s been a lifesaver. He’s just your age, too.” 

“I’d love to meet him,” Gansey replied, his voice slightly deflated. He took notice of how his grandmother’s eyes lit up and her spine straightened at Adam’s name, as if the mention of him required preparation, dignity. Like meeting the queen. A twinge of something sprouted in Gansey’s chest, but he pushed it down and politely asked, “Where does he go to school?” 

“Oh, he doesn’t,” replied Gloria. She was peeling a banana now. She held it out to Gansey and he shook his head. Gloria plucked off a small bit and spoke around it. “He lives in town and works at the garage. And occasionally the drive-in. And here, of course.” 

Gansey took a painful swallow of coffee. “He works for you, then?” 

Gloria smiled at the banana. “He’s been such a help,” she replied. The conversation seemed to be over. 

Gansey walked over to the kitchen window that looked out onto the backyard. It was beautiful and soothing, just how he remembered: the oak trees creating dapples of shadows on the far-reaching grass, the birds chirping, the small garden, colourful and sectioned off with string. He remembered running in that yard with Helen. At night they would watch the sun sink under the horizon of the field and Gansey would feel like a king – like if he could watch one full day bow down before him, he could conquer anything. 

Behind him, he heard his grandmother muttering softly, “I bet you’ll meet him today, actually. He was supposed to mow the lawn this morning.” 

Gansey stared for a second longer. The smell of freshly cut grass was wafting through the window. He closed his eyes against it and hoped Adam was the type for second impressions. 

* * *

That asshole had parked in his spot. 

Adam had wanted to get an early start on the lawn before it got too hot. But when he pulled his car into the driveway he stopped, staring. He left it running and got out, slowly approaching the orange thing as if it were a wild animal. Adam blinked. He tried to picture what kind of person would drive a car like this. It was more frat-boyish, which was not at all how he had pictured Richard. It had to be Richard’s car. Everyone else here knew that that was _Adam’s spot._ Adam blinked again. The car was screaming orange, a violent orange, an orange you couldn’t ignore. Especially an orange you couldn't ignore when it was six a.m and it was parked right in your spot. 

The guy was only going to be here for a few weeks. Adam took a deep breath. A few weeks. Then he got back in his car and parked on the side of the gravel road. 

It was evening by the time Adam finished. He’d gone to Chester’s to mow his lawn, too, because he knew Chester’s back had been hurting. Then he’d gone back to Gigi’s to drop off dinner: a roast chicken from Chester with a little note attached to the Saran Wrap that read  _ for my Glorious G – Love C.  _ He left the food on the porch then texted Gigi to have a good night, hoping to avoid any possible dinner invitation with Richard. Adam wondered how long he could avoid a formal introduction. He hoped maybe the mowing situation that morning counted as meeting him and Richard would leave it at that. 

Adam was halfway down the drive when he heard the screen door slam behind him. Gigi never let the door slam. Adam inhaled and walked a little faster. 

“Hey!” His voice sounded even more entitled in the evening. Adam wished he had headphones so he could pretend not to hear. 

“Hey! Sorry, hi!” 

Adam stopped, let out his breath, and slowly turned. 

The guy was wearing khakis with a perfectly pressed plait down each leg. He had on a white collared shirt with three buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up just enough for Adam to see a silver watch the size of a small dinner plate. He was wearing sunglasses, even though the sun was mostly set. Adam immediately knew that this was his casual look, and he was immediately viscerally bothered by it. 

Richard stood with his arms crossed and smiled wide at Adam. Adam tried to guess what colour his teeth would be if they were paint swatches. _ Chemically-enhanced eggshell,  _ Adam thought.  _ The light above a dentist’s chair.  _

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.” Richard stepped off the porch and walked towards Adam, arm extended much before Adam could have reached him. It made Adam rush, as if the handshake was a limited time offer that Adam simply couldn't miss out on. “It’s Adam, right?” 

Adam settled on _ fresh hospital bedsheets _ for his teeth and nodded. 

“Yeah. You’re Richard, I assume?” Adam hated how already this guy had him saying words like  _ assume,  _ as if he had something to prove. 

“Just Gansey is fine.” 

Adam faltered for a moment. To use only a last name seemed like a very high-schoolish thing. Adam’s brain bounced back and forth between thinking it was immature or egotistical, some one-name thing like Cher or Bono. 

“Sure, sorry. Gansey,” Adam managed. 

Gansey freed one hand from the prison of his crossed arms to wave it dismissively. “Totally fine. I assumed Nana had you all trained to call me otherwise, so no biggie.” 

Adam, as a general rule, did not like people who said things like  _ biggie. _ Or referred to his grandmother's friends as  _ you all. _ Adam felt a small heat rise up in the back of his throat. He cleared it. 

“She usually calls you Dicky,” he replied candidly, which made Gansey cringe visibly, which made Adam happy, “But I thought that was probably not, uh –” 

“My style?” offered Gansey. He still hadn’t taken off his sunglasses. It made him look like a cop. Adam felt interrogated. “My current maturity level?” 

“Yeah,” said Adam dryly.

Gansey laughed. “You thought correct.” 

There was a silence. Adam’s skin itched with heat and something else he couldn’t name. 

Because they were standing right next to it, Adam couldn’t help himself  _ – _ he gestured with his chin to the orange outrage. “Nice car.” 

Gansey  _ beamed,  _ mouth open like a golden retriever. “Yeah? Thanks. 1973.” 

“Does it run well?” Despite himself, Adam was genuinely curious. Gansey's golden retriever smile was different from his other expressions. Despite himself, Adam was beginning to see how someone could tolerate a conversation with Gansey, if all he did was smile and talk about cars. 

“Better than you’d think.” Gansey gazed fondly at the Camaro like it was a prize horse. He turned back to Adam. “Nana mentioned you’re a mechanic?”

“I work at a garage, yeah.”

“She said you’re a jack-of-all-trades, actually. Fixing her roof and everything. Says you do it all.” He was smiling, but it was in a different way than before.

Adam shrugged. “Just whatever needs doing, I guess.” 

Gansey nodded, arms still crossed. “Man of direct action,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Adam replied dryly. 

Another beat of silence. Longer. 

“Coke fan?” Gansey asked.

Adam’s head snapped up. “Pardon?” 

“Your shirt.” 

Adam looked down at the faded logo. “It was on sale.”

“Ah,” Gansey replied. 

There was another beat of silence, this one somehow more unbearable than the last. 

Adam started to say something at the same time Gansey did, and then they both stuttered.

“Sorry, go ahead,” Gansey said, finally uncrossing his arms. 

“No, please,” Adam said, taking a step back.

“I was just going to say,” Gansey said. “Well, I was just going to thank you for your help with my grandmother.” 

“Oh.” This was not what Adam was expecting. “No problem.” 

“And I just hope – I mean, I know you do a lot for her. I assume you’re here often. And I don’t know what kind of system you guys have, but I just hope it’s beneficial for both of you.” 

Adam crossed his arms, now. “System?” he asked. 

“Financially.” 

Adam blinked at him. “I don’t understand.” 

Gansey sighed, like explaining this to Adam was just so difficult for him. “I know my grandmother can be a bit forgetful. So I just hope she pays you, you know,  _ fairly  _ for the work you do.” 

Adam’s mouth parted in understanding. “And by fairly, you mean  _ not too much. _ “

“I didn’t say that,” Gansey said calmly.

“You didn’t have to.” 

“I’m just trying to look out for her.” 

“Must be hard looking out for her all the way from Cambridge,” Adam replied. 

Gansey took a breath in the shape of a smile and looked down. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” 

Adam looked to the left, then down. “I’m not offended, but Gigi would be.” He looked fully to Gansey. “She’s not stupid.” 

Gansey’s brow furrowed, his back straightening. “I know that.” 

“So if I were taking advantage of her, she’d probably know, don't you think?” 

“I never said  _ –” _

“Again, didn’t have to.” 

They were both silent, looking at each other. Gansey opened his mouth, but suddenly Adam was thoroughly through with this conversation, and he interrupted. 

“She doesn’t pay me, okay? I don’t want her to.” 

Gansey said nothing for a long time.

Adam waited, then looked at his watch. “And I need to go to my actual job now. This one does pay me, if you’re wondering. That alright with you?” 

The last part was more venomous than Adam intended, but he did enjoy the way Gansey’s face shifted stonily.

“Of course,” Gansey said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry again, Adam. If I offended you.” 

Adam turned and walked away. Feeling Gansey’s eyes on him, he shouted back without turning his head: “Also, you’re parked in my spot.” 

Then he drove away.


	3. Chapter 3

It was about two in the morning by the time Adam got home. This was typical of his night shifts; he only had two a week though, so it wasn’t terrible. As he walked along the path to his house there was a slight misting of rain, illuminating a circle of particles around his porch light. Adam’s cottage was small  _ – _ it was a horrible rusty red hunting lodge when he’d gotten it, and he had painted it a navy blue with Chester’s help. Now it looked pretty presentable. It had two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen that was also a living room. It was furnished with things Adam found for free or was given by Gigi. It was very, very little, but it was entirely, wholly Adam’s. 

If there was enough hot water Adam would usually take a bath, but as he unlocked the door, he knew he would fall in bed immediately. Something about that day had left him utterly deflated. Also, Gansey. Well, probably mostly Gansey.

As he pulled on his pajama shirt his phone rang. He answered only because of the name on the screen. 

“You know it’s two a.m. here, right?” he asked, though he wasn’t mad and she knew it.

“Five letters –  _ to estimate or assess,” _ Blue said. 

Adam kicked off his jeans and fell into bed. “Guess? Assume? No, that’s six. Do you have any other letters?” 

“An  _ a. _ And yes, I know it’s two. That’s why I’m calling. I thought maybe I’d catch you on your drive home. Did I succeed?” 

“I’m already home, but I think I can pencil you in." He guessed again: "Judge?"

“Nope.” 

Adam rolled over in bed and wedged the phone between the pillow and his ear. “How’s Vancouver?” 

“Currently? Rainy and boring. That’s why I’m doing this crossword.”

“You like crosswords.” 

“I do,” Blue said ruefully. “How’s Gigi?” 

“Her grandson is up.”

“Oh, Harvard? How bad is it?” 

“This may be the first time I’m actually glad you’re in Canada, so that you don’t have to know the answer to that.” 

“That bad?” 

“He asked me to call him just  _ Gansey.” _

__

“Gross,” Blue said. “Like a sports player?” 

“Yes, if Polo and correcting people’s grammar were professional sports.”

“I’m fairly certain one of those is definitely a professional sport.” 

“Again, two a.m., Blue. Be fair.” 

“I’m currently cutting you the world’s biggest piece of slack,” she replied. They both grinned. 

“You’ll be fine,” Blue said. “It’s only a few weeks, right?” 

Before Adam could reply there was a melody of muted voices in the background. 

Blue said, “I’ve got to go. Alice needs another player for her Wii tennis tournament.”

“Have fun with that.” 

“I just might. Send me a picture of Harvard’s hair and we’ll discuss how many dye treatments it had to suffer through.” 

“Sure,” Adam grinned. Then, “Blue?” 

“Yeah?” 

“ _ Gauge _ .” 

He heard her pencil scratching, then the sound of her smiling.

“I miss you,” she said. 

“You just miss my brain,” he replied. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “But there’s just so much of it to miss.” They both grinned and hung up.

Adam let his phone slide off his cheek and pulled the pillow over his head. Sleep came pouring in like water around the edges of his mind, and all was quiet. 

* * *

Gansey called Helen the next morning. 

“I’ve only got three minutes,” she answered. “Manageable?”

“I only need two,” Gansey replied. “Firstly, hi. Secondly, why didn’t you tell me about Adam?” 

A pause. “Adam…?” 

“I don’t know his last name. Nana’s Adam. Her gardener. Worker, guy. Whatever. Her next of kin, apparently.” 

“ _ Oh _ , Adam Parrish. Yeah, he’s nice. Nana likes him.” She waited. 

“Well?” Gansey prompted.

“Well  _ what?  _ Why didn’t I tell you about  _ what?”  _

“How – I don’t know –  _ present  _ he is. He practically lives here.” 

“You make it sound like he’s her boyfriend.” 

“No, that’s Chester. Who you also didn’t tell me about.” 

Gansey had met Chester yesterday. He was mostly deaf, so it was a very quiet conversation, a lot of Chester smiling and ducking his head. But Gloria nearly cried with laughter when she was with him, and he made really good food. Gansey liked his mustache. 

Helen said, “They sign their Christmas card together every year, Gansey. They sign it  _ love Gloria and Chester.”  _

Gansey waved a hand dismissively. “Chester’s fine. But if Nana needed extra help, we could have hired someone. No one knows this Adam guy.” 

“Firstly, she doesn’t need  _ that  _ kind of help yet Gansey. God. Secondly,  _ she  _ knows Adam. She trusts him. I don’t see the problem.” 

Gansey pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, thought, then waved his hand. “Fine. Okay. Sorry to bother you.” 

“Was there another reason for your call, or was it just to bitch about Nana’s replacement grandson?” 

“Goodbye, Helen.” 

“This was more than three minutes. You owe me money now.”

“ _ Goodbye, Helen _ .” 

Later in the afternoon, the sun came pouring in like orange juice as Gansey sat in the kitchen, a glass of iced tea in hand. The house was palpably quiet. Nana was napping, and Gansey was biting the inside of his thumb. Adam had been out in the yard all afternoon, on a ladder, working on a small wood house that allegedly housed chickens. Gansey shook his head at himself. He was entirely aware that he was being the guy he specifically did  _ not  _ want to be when he came here. He'd had enough. Downing the rest of his tea, he stood and went outside. 

He called out as he approached, but Adam didn’t hear him. Gansey came and stood to the left of the ladder, his chin tilted up. 

Gansey said, “I really have no idea what you’re doing, but it looks –” 

“Get back, get back!” Adam shouted, noticing Gansey. Gansey, shocked, stumbled back a few steps just as a huge piece of metal came crashing down from the roof of the henhouse, right where he’d been standing.

Adam looked at him sheepishly and climbed down the ladder. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh. I was just taking down the old gutters. That wasn’t the best place to be standing.” 

“Understandable,” Gansey said with a shaky laugh. He took his hand from his chest and wiped it on his pant leg. 

Adam looked from Gansey to the house, as if Gloria had maybe sent him. Something was different about Gansey, and it only took Adam a moment to notice he was wearing a pair of thin wireframe glasses. They made him look very homey; this contradicted Adam’s original perception of him and somehow made him angry. He asked plainly, “Can I help you with something?” 

Gansey nodded and readjusted his posture. “We got off on the wrong foot, I think.” 

Adam sat down on the steps of the henhouse and looked around for something. Gansey pointed to a water bottle rolled underneath the stairs. He let Adam take a big sip before continuing. 

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t understand the situation you and my grandmother have.” 

“What situation would that be?” Adam asked rigidly.

Gansey sighed. “Look, Adam, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen my grandmother in years, and I feel terrible, and I guess I just felt the need to compensate by being protective. Which was stupid. And unfair. I’m sorry. Okay?” 

Adam looked at him for a moment, then said, “Okay.” 

Gansey's sigh turned into a wide grin. “Great. Cool. So we can start over?”

Adam looked at him, chin lifted, then nodded.

“Awesome. How old are you?” 

“I’m twenty-one,” Adam said, eyebrows pulling together. “Why?” 

“So am I. For some reason, my grandmother thinks this is indisputable evidence that we will be the best of friends.” 

Minutely, one end of Adam’s mouth rose. 

“I don’t care much for playdates,” Gansey said.

“Me neither,” Adam replied. He had started wiping his fingers with a cloth. 

“However,” Gansey said in a way that made Adam look up at him, “I do need someone to show me around.” 

Adam watched him, still moving the cloth. Finally, he said, “Do you need me to recommend some extroverts who would be happy to help?” 

Gansey smiled. “I was very much hoping you’d do it.” 

“Why?” Adam asked, not hiding his confusion. 

Gansey lifted his shoulders then dropped them heavily. “Because you’re the only person I know here? Because regardless of our ages I think we could get along?” He raised one shoulder jokingly higher than the other. “Because I want to prove that I can  _ not  _ be an ignorant asshole for a few minutes?”

Both sides of Adam’s mouth pulled up, now. He stood up, throwing the cloth down onto a toolbox. “There’s not a lot to see here,” he warned Gansey. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in no time, then.” 

Adam turned, equipment in hand. The sun was in his eyes and he squinted as he looked at Gansey. He sighed and asked, “Do you want to do anything in particular?” 

“How about a drink?” 

“I don’t drink.” 

“How about a non-alcoholic drink?” Gansey asked in the same tone, which made Adam actually laugh. He laughed like he wasn’t expecting himself to. His laugh made his whole face release tension, rearrange into something softer and more open. 

“There’s a pub,” Adam said. “We can go tomorrow night.” 

“Sure. At six?” 

Adam nodded. “I’ll be here.” 

“Cool,” Gansey put out his fist. Adam looked at it for a second, then transferred the toolbox to his other hand so he could bump it with his own. Gansey grinned and began walking back to the house. 

“Gansey,” Adam called, just as Gansey was at the steps. He stopped and turned, one hand on the railing. Adam’s colours were muted: the pale of his skin and the faded beige of his shirt matching the fields beyond him. But the evening sun ate up his dusty hair, and made it look like bronze. Gleaming.

Adam said, “Thanks for moving your car.” 

Gansey smiled. “I was parked in your spot,” he explained simply. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“Are you sure?” Adam asked again. He eyed the Camaro nervously, as if the car might suddenly wake up and force him to drive over the speed limit. “We can take my truck. I don’t want you to waste gas just going into town.” 

“Pssh,” Gansey replied dismissively. Currently, he was wiping a minuscule stain off the Pig’s driver door with a cloth. As a mechanic, Adam could understand the attention to detail. As a normal person, Adam was irked and confused.

“I wanted to show you how it drives, anyway,” Gansey said, straightening and placing a hand on the roof. “You wanted to see, right?”

“Sure,” Adam muttered.

The sun was bright, but Gansey’s attitude was inexplicably brighter. He looked like he’d just put on three new teeth whitening stripes and was eager to show the world. He had skipped out to the car, and he’d pulled the white cloth out with a flourish. Adam wondered, again, how long this was going to take. He hoped Gansey wasn’t thinking they were going to go bar hopping or anything. The only hopping that happened here occurred with the occasional wild bunny. 

Adam looked into the horizon, then back at Gansey. “Ready to go?” 

Gansey nodded and slipped into the driver’s seat. He did it effortlessly, like his body had just been waiting to naturally slip into that position. Adam was starting to realize he did a lot of things that way. As they pulled out of the driveway, Gansey honked amicably to Gloria and Chester, who were sitting outside on the front porch. They both waved. 

Gloria shouted, “Not too much fun now, boys!” and Chester laughed like the two of them had some glorious joke hidden from the rest of the world. 

When they got to the pub they pushed in, Adam ahead of Gansey. The inside was dark and lit with a few long, large windows, letting in slits of angled light. Large TVs displayed two different types of sports. Gansey looked around as if it were a museum. “Nice place,” he commented.

Adam made a sound that could have been a laugh or a scoff. He walked right up to the bar and sat on one of the high chairs. Gansey followed, doing a small hop to push himself up. 

“Busy,” he remarked, looking around. Almost all the tables were full.

“Friday night,” Adam replied. “Whole town’s here.”

Gansey scoped out the place. Adam wondered if this was going to be a high-school party situation: the two of them coming together, Gansey quickly finding other people he would much rather associate with and leaving Adam alone with a perfectly respectable apology. Adam wondered how he’d get home if that happened. He cursed himself, again, for not driving his own truck. At least then Gansey would have an excuse to not ditch him entirely.

But Gansey turned back to Adam, a pleasant smile on his face, and folded his hands together. “Drinks?” he asked. 

Before Adam could reply, a bartender slunk up. “Hello, Mr. Parrish,” she said playfully. Adam smiled at her, small but genuine.

“Hey,” he replied kindly, trying to ignore her persistent glances towards Gansey. Finally, he said, “Uh, Diana, this is Gan — Richard. Gansey.” 

Gansey stuck out his hand. “Pleasure.” 

“And yourself.” She reached over and shook his hand generously. She looked at Adam but addressed Gansey when she next spoke: “So you belong to Gloria, then?” 

“I suppose I must,” Gansey said. 

“Alright, alright.” She smiled fully at Gansey. “Good woman.” 

“She certainly is.” 

“You just visiting town?” 

“I am. Adam is graciously showing me around.” 

“That’s our Adam,” she said. She cocked her head at him, fondly. “Ever gracious.” 

Adam smirked. She grinned and threw down two menus, then, without asking, grabbed a glass bottle of coke from under the counter and placed it in front of Adam. 

“Let me know when you decide. Nice to meet you, Mr. Richard.” She twirled to the other end of the bar. 

“She seems nice,” Gansey said. 

“We went to high school together.” 

“Here in town?” 

Adam was confused by Gansey, for a few reasons. One was that he was weirdly blunt but in his own polite, almost political way. Another was that he was good at asking people questions about themselves, which threw Adam off. Adam was usually the one questioning, and he assumed that Gansey would be used to talking about himself. But instead, Gansey would ask questions and Adam would reply and then Gansey would say something oddly conversational and they went on like that for some time, until the door of the pub banged open, letting in a breath of cool-ish air and a group of even colder people. 

Gansey saw them out of the corner of his eye first. It was a group of about four guys, one taller and skinnier than the others at the helm. They were making a lot of noise, but when they saw Adam, their chatter softened. 

“Hey, Parrish,” said tall-and-thin, slowly and not nicely. “Nice to see you about and about. This your boyfriend?” 

He slapped Adam’s shoulder as the group passed. They were clearly done with the conversation, but Gansey clearly was not. 

Gansey stood up and said loudly after them, “I should be so lucky.” 

The boys all turned, very, very slowly. 

“Gansey,” Adam muttered, gesturing with his head back to the seat. Gansey didn’t look, just put a hand up towards him, fingers bent, a _just wait._ Adam made a noise low in his throat. 

The group of guys approached Gansey slowly. Gansey smiled anew, and straightened his back. “No, I am his friend though.” He held out his hand. “And who might you fellas be?” 

The group exchanged acidic smiles among them before the tall guy grabbed Gansey’s hand, more slap than handshake. “Travis.” 

“Travis? I’m Gansey.” 

“Gansey?” Travis looked in delight from Gansey to Adam. “That old broad’s got you hitched on her kids now too, huh Parrish?” 

“My grandmother and I,” Gansey started, “don’t really appreciate that kind of language about us or about – ” 

But no one seemed to be listening to Gansey. Instead, the group turned to Adam, who sat sideways in his chair, not quite facing them. He looked bored, his face set in well-practiced neutrality. 

“Nice to see you expanding your circle, Parrish,” one of the other guys was saying, leaning too far over Adam. “You worried old Glo is running out of time?” 

Travis said, “Shit, Dev, asking Parrish about death already?” and the group erupted into laughter. 

Gansey, trying and failing to catch Adam’s eye, put an arm out to break up the group tightly closing around Adam. “Look, I don’t see why –” 

One guy, still laughing, said, “Look, Parrish, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” He put his hand on Adam’s shoulder but Adam turned abruptly, knocking the guy’s hand off with his arm.

Adam said, “Don’t touch me,” in a level voice. The boys chorused low _ooooohhh’s._

Travis said, “A joke, Parrish. A joke.” 

Adam turned fully to him, as if noticing him for the first time. He asked calmly, “How’s Kit?” 

The lingering laughter from the group subsided. Travis' smile fell, and his jaw moved restlessly. “The fuck did you say?” 

“I asked,” Adam said, his eyes unwavering, “how Kit is. Will you say hi for me?” 

Gansey looked from both Travis to Adam, but from the time it took for his eyes to land on Adam, Travis had made a huge move forward, fists pulled back, knocking Gansey’s empty chair over. Gansey instinctively moved between the two of them before Travis got to Adam, holding out an arm across Adam’s chest. Two of the other guys held Travis back. Adam barely flinched. 

“Jesus Christ,” Gansey said, half in surprise and half to Travis, “What was that? Were you never fucking socialized?” 

“Fuck you, Bernie Sanders,” spat Travis, but his eyes still burned into Adam. Adam had regained that bored look, like he wasn’t quite there. His indifference scared Gansey, mostly because Gansey understood how used to this kind of behaviour you had to be to develop a reaction like that. 

“Travis!” The same bartender walked up behind them, arms out like _what the fuck?_

Travis glanced back at her. His shoulders fell a little. “He started it, Di.” 

“He started it, Di,” she mimicked in a duncy voice. “Are you in third fucking grade? I will not tell you again, you guys are allowed on the back patio, but if I even see you talking to Parrish again, I’m telling Daniel to ban you. I’m serious.” 

They all fell silent, exchanging glancing. Diana stared at them purposefully until they all shuffled out. Travis cast a glance back at Adam, his mouth set in a harsh line. 

“Sorry, Adam,” said Diana. Adam just picked at the coke label, giving her a frail smile. He looked back towards Gansey, as if remembering he was there, then, seeing Gansey’s chair knocked over, he bent to pick it up. 

“Please, no, you shouldn’t – oh, thank you,” Gansey said, as Adam righted his chair. Gansey glanced down the pub and saw the group outside on the back patio, smoking cigarettes with beers in their hands. Travis’ face was red.

He slipped into his chair, kind of shakily. Adam didn’t look at him. 

“Friends of yours?” Gansey tried to laugh. Adam widened his eyes to acknowledge the sarcasm, then threw his head back to finish the coke. 

Adam placed the bottle down, too hard. “Guess they just needed to get it out of their system.” He hesitated. “I haven’t really been out in a while.” 

“He hasn’t been out since the paleolithic era,” Gansey replied, sharply glancing down the bar again. When he looked back, Adam was staring at him, incredulous. “What?” 

“Look, I’m sorry that he’s – him. But I can deal with it. I’ve been dealing with this. I appreciate you trying to help, but stuff like that doesn’t work.” 

“Stuff like what?” 

“Like _socialized,_ like _paleolithic._ You can’t just talk him out of it.” 

“Oh, so you just beat it out instead?” 

Adam fell silent. He began picking at the coke label again, then turned his head away from Gansey, looking down the bar. 

Gansey looked down. “I’m sorry. I don’t…” 

Adam snapped his attention to his hands when he spoke, as if looking at Gansey and speaking at the same time was too much. “No, you don’t, Gansey. You really don’t. You don’t know these people or this town and I’m fine to show you around but you can’t just come here and pretend like you know how stuff works when you clearly don’t, okay?” 

Gansey watched Adam for a moment. He tried to see Adam’s eyes shift under his eyelids, but Adam’s posture – shoulders hunched, eyes downcast – was so well-practiced. Gansey couldn’t read him at all. 

“Okay,” Gansey replied calmly, sincerely. “Adam?” 

Adam looked up at him, tentatively. Gansey held his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry.” 

Adam looked him up and down, up and down. “Okay,” he said finally. He gestured with his empty bottle to the space in front of Gansey. “Are you gonna order a drink?” 

“Considering it.” Gansey clasped his hands, readjusting in his seat. After a bit of silence he asked, “So you don’t come here often?” 

Adam laughed soundlessly. 

“Sorry,” Gansey said. “That was like an anti-pickup line.” 

Adam almost grinned. “I don’t come out much. I go into the city if I want to. But you wanted to see the nightlife here though, so –” he turned both palms out, a sarcastic _ta-da!_

Gansey looked around as if they just got there, nodding slightly, pushing his lower lip out in observation. “I did. Well. Lovely. Nightlife, seen. You wanna go?” 

Adam looked astounded, breathing out another short laugh. “You should know there aren’t any bars for at least an hour.” 

“I don’t believe I want a bar. Do you guys have a liquor store?” 

“Hour away.” 

“Convenience store, then.” 

Adam smirked. He started searching in his pocket for change for the coke. 

Gansey was already getting up, stretching his arms above him. “I would kill for a slushy. They have coke-flavoured slushies, don't they?” 

Adam couldn't help it. He grinned wider, and grabbed his jacket. 

* * *

They sat outside on the screened-in back porch while the evening turned to dusk, orange clouds streaking across the sky. The noise of bugs was quiet but enveloping, like white noise. Adam watched Gansey eyeing the bugs slap against the screen, mouth slightly parted like he’d never seen anything like it before. Gansey looked at everything in this town like it was a relic, a sight to behold. Adam was at once annoyed and charmed by it. 

Gansey picked up his slushy, which was now an unattractive mixture of brown, and spoke around the straw. “Are they always this bad?” he asked of the bugs. 

Adam looked to where Gansey watched. “This time of year, yeah. If you wear lighter colours they won’t bother you as much, though. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m not,” Gansey replied distantly. “How about bees?”

“Bees?” Adam asked. “One time I ran over a hive with the lawnmower. But not very common. Why? You want honey?” 

“Not entirely,” Gansey replied. He shook his head, as if waking from some trance and smiled at Adam. “I’m allergic to them.” 

“Oh.” Distantly, Adam remembered Gloria telling him about someone with a bee allergy, but that was before Gansey was even a name or concept or an eventuality. “Bad?” 

“Best if I avoid them,” Gansey said, tilting his head back to down the rest of the brown liquid. “You ran over a whole hive?” 

“It might have been wasps. I don’t remember. I couldn’t sit for days.”

Gansey coughed-laughed. “They stung you that bad?” 

“Yeah. On my ass,” Adam replied, and Gansey laughed enormously. Adam realized with a start how much he looked like Gloria when he laughed like that: neck exposed, eyes closed, hand braced at his chest. He resembled her so much that Adam had to look away, turning his smirk towards the sky.

They were silent for a while afterwards, though Gansey didn’t seem to mind, so Adam didn’t either. They sat.

Finally, Gansey cleared his throat and asked, “Who’s Kit?” 

Adam didn’t understand.

“In the pub. You said _Kit_ and it shut He-Man down. Is she…?” 

Adam looked down, swallowing. “His girlfriend, yeah.” 

“Ah.” Gansey looked at the landscape. Too fast, he asked, “Did you sleep with her?” 

Adam took in a short breath, then let out a long one. 

“God. I’m sorry,” Ganssey said, surprised at himself. “That was invasive of me to ask. Please, don’t answer that.” When Adam didn’t say anything, Gansey rushed to explain: “I just thought he wouldn’t have reacted like that unless – “ 

“It’s alright,” Adam said. But he was shaking his head, having an entirely different conversation with himself. He looked at the sun, nearly set. “It’s kind of complicated. It was more like she slept with me.” 

Gansey scratched his chin. “You typically need two people to do it. Or, you know, so I’ve heard.” 

That raised a little smile in Adam. “I guess.” 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up.” 

Adam shook his head again. “I don’t… I didn’t mean to do it. There was – I had a bad year in high school. And everything was messed up. And she was just there.” 

“It’s okay, Adam. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.” 

“I know, but I just want you to _know._ ” Adam looked fully to Gansey, his eyes intent. “I’m not that type of guy. I didn’t say it to be an asshole. I just knew he’d leave us alone.” 

“You’re not an asshole,” Gansey said, the same way someone would say _water is wet._

“Thanks, but.” Adam chewed the end of his straw. “You don’t know everything about me.” 

“I know enough to know you’re not an asshole,” Gansey replied. Again, his self-assurance reminded Adam of Gloria, and he looked down. 

They both fell silent again, watching the landscape. The bug’s hum seemed to grow louder, but not uncomfortably so. A breeze squeezed through the screen and Adam watched Gansey close his eyes against it. 

Adam said, “Well, I think you’ve proven that you can be more than – what were your words? An ignorant asshole? – for more than a few minutes. So mission accomplished.” 

“Thank god,” Gansey replied. He lifted his empty slushy container towards Adam. “Cheers, then. To not being assholes.” 

Adam tapped his rim against Gansey’s. “For at least a few minutes,” Adam reminded him.

“Oh, yes, a few minutes.” Gansey studied his watch. “Have you been keeping count? How much longer do I have?” 

And Adam laughed, loud, unabridged. And by the time they went back inside, their cups were bone dry, Adam’s cheeks hurt, and the air outside was as dark as anyone had ever seen it. 


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks passed in a summery, languorous way. Gansey put up maps to cover the yellow of his walls. He started writing again  _ –  _ just single-sentence thoughts and doodles of chickens, but still, more than he had done all year. Adam taught Gansey about cars. Specifically, why his car didn’t run well. Gansey didn’t particularly like hearing about the Pig’s problems  _ –  _ he felt like a parent being told by a teacher that his child just wasn’t that bright  _ –  _ but he did like knowing how to fix it if something went wrong. 

Most evenings, he and Gloria watched old monochrome films. Sometimes, when he wasn’t working nights, Adam would watch with them. Gansey liked watching with Adam. Unlike Gloria, who had been an actress in her younger years and reminisced constantly during their viewings (“You wouldn’t  _ believe _ how much hairspray is needed for it to look like that!”), Adam was calmly indifferent to the films. Gansey liked questioning him, both of them pretending they knew as much about 1950s cinema as Gloria did. 

“What do you think that fellow’s real name is, Adam?” Gansey would ask, pointing at yet another stone-faced suited man. 

Without changing his face, Adam would reply, “Richard.” Then Both of them would laugh behind their hands until Gloria shushed them. 

Gansey loved exploring the house. After Gansey’s grandfather had died, Gloria kept all his things and told Gansey to take whatever he wanted: “You’re so much like him, anyway.” 

Gansey found photographs, old film reels, love letters between his grandparents. He found an impeccably-kept glass duck. A decorative Chinese fan. One day, in the back of a closet, he found a tan boating hat, an item he adored immediately because of how well it matched his shoes. As he donned the hat, he distantly heard a terrible noise from the kitchen. He ran.  He found Gloria hunched over the sink. She had just thrown up. 

As he helped her to bed, Gloria waved him off, her hand shaking. “I’m fine, Dicky, really. Such a fuss.” 

Gansey gave her some water. “We need to be careful, Nana. You had that fall last year –” 

“Gah! That blasted fall. I wish everyone would stop speaking of it.” 

“You did break your hip.” 

“I broke my hip, then  _ healed  _ my hip,” she reminded him. Then she brightened. “Oh, you’re wearing your grandfather’s hat!” 

Adam arrived minutes after Gansey called him. Adam leaned against the doorframe but didn’t enter Gloria’s room. He looked hesitant, shaken. He smiled weakly at Gansey, who sat beside Gloria’s bed, but then turned to Gloria. “Hey, Gigi.” 

She opened her eyes. “ _ Adam.  _ At last. Would you please tell Dicky to calm himself? It was just a little up-chuck.” 

The two boys exchanged a glance. Adam said, “We’re just a bit worried is all.” 

“No need. I just need to rest for a while.” 

Adam said, “I’ll tell Mr. Haroldson we probably can’t make it, then?” 

“Is that tomorrow?!” she gasped. “Oh, Adam, I completely forgot. I had my dress ironed and everything.” 

“Sorry,” interjected Gansey, “who is Mr. Haroldson?”

“He’s the mayor,” Adam explained. “Every year he has a birthday party and invites his favourite citizens. Gigi always goes. He’s got a crush on her.” 

“Shush,” Gloria said, exchanging cheeky smiles with Adam. Gansey heard Helen in his head: she  _ trusts him.  _ Immediately, Gansey understood that they’d known each other for years; this both comforted and startled him. 

“You should still attend, Adam,” Gloria continued. ”Oh, do come in here, you’re making me feel like I’m contagious.” 

Adam grinned sheepishly, entered, and pulled a chair beside her bed. “They invited  _ you.  _ I was just accompanying.” 

“You are my  _ guest.  _ Oh!” She suddenly looked between the two boys. “I know! Dicky will take my place. They’ll be thrilled.” 

Gansey held up his hands. “Oh, no, I don’t want to impose.” 

“Nonsense. They’re all dying to meet you, anyway.” 

Gansey hesitated. “What about Chester?” he tried. 

“Chester hates parties,” both Gloria and Adam replied. 

“Please go, dear.” Gloria took Gansey’s hand. “I would feel so much better if you did.” 

Looking from Gloria to Adam, Gansey said, “I mean, if Adam’s okay with it.”

Adam looked startled. “Of course I am. If you want to. Nice hat,” he added, smiling slightly, fully noticing Gansey’s attire.

Gansey touched the brim self-consciously. “Do you like it?” 

“It was his grandfather’s,” Gloria boasted. 

“In that case, I love it,” Adam replied, smiling down at Gloria. He and Gansey exchanged smirks. 

Gloria patted Gansey’s hand, then reached over and patted Adam’s, too. “Now, boys, I love you both dearly, but I’m afraid this old broad needs some sleep.” 

“Of course.” 

“I’ll bring you some soup,” Adam said. Gloria blew them a kiss. Her hand was still shaking. 

They shut the door softly after them, then just stood there, looking at each other. 

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Gansey asked, his voice thin.

Adam swallowed. “In general? Yes.” 

Gansey nodded, though it was far away.

Adam said, “Party’s at seven tomorrow. I’ll be here at six-thirty?” 

Gansey smiled with half of his mouth. “I get the feeling you don’t love parties.” 

“I love them as much as I love your hat,” Adam said, making his way downstairs. “Do you want any soup?” 

* * *

When Adam got into the Camaro the next night, Gansey was wearing the boating hat again, along with a perfectly matched tan suit and tie. Adam sucked in his lip and turned to hide his face. 

Gansey sighed and said, “Say it.” 

Adam said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Do you think it’s too much?” Gansey pulled down the visor mirror and adjusted the hat fretfully. “I thought it was summery.” 

“Gansey, it’s fine. So many old men there are going to compliment your impeccable taste.” 

“Harsh, Parrish,” said Gansey, turning to back the car up. But he was smiling. 

As they drove, Adam tugged at his own suit. He’d had it since he was sixteen; it still fit, but just barely. The sleeves pulled up to reveal his bony wrists, and he was constantly tugging them down. Gansey noticed but said nothing, and Adam felt a cocktail of shame and anger swell within him. He pushed it down.  _ Not tonight.  _

Tonight, Gansey was humming some stupid pop song and craning his neck whenever they passed any old Victorian building or decrepit barn, and tapping out beats against the steering wheel, and Adam let his own bitterness dissolve into Gansey’s goodness, like sugar in hot water. It was summer. 

It was summer, and it was okay.


	6. Chapter 6

It stopped being okay very quickly.

“Is this it?” Gansey asked as they arrived, craning his neck out the car window to see. The action was necessary. 

Made from old grey stone and even older money, the mayor's house sat on top of a lush green hill that rose above the rest of the town. Small ponds spread out beneath it, reflecting the house and displaying it further: everywhere you looked, there it was. Gansey parked in the guest parking lot at the bottom of the hill. They looked up together at the house.

“In all its glory,” Adam replied.

Adam saw how Gansey looked at it: with familiarity. With appreciation. Instantly, Adam understood what kind of night this was to be. Coming to these things with Gloria was okay, because Adam had gotten used to hanging on her arm, accepting food silently, having people say,  _ oh, Adam! Haven’t you gotten so tall!  _ then cheerily not talk to him ever again. But suddenly, with Gansey here, Adam felt like his presence would be even more questionable. He barely belonged here to begin with. Having Gansey here just made it more obvious. 

“Well,” Gansey said, turning to Adam and pulling the keys from the ignition. He grinned. Something was shifting in his face, waking up. “Excelsior.”

He knew having Gansey here changed things. And it did.  Because although the Pig stood out among the other expensive cars like a piece of candy corn against some piano keys, Gansey fit in at the party like he’d been born there. 

Upon being introduced to anyone, Gansey took their elbow lightly in one hand while shaking their hand with his other, as if they were friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long time. He gestured effortlessly with a thin flute of champagne. He accepted hors d’oeuvres with a flourish. He winked at waiters. 

Adam watched him. He watched Gansey move through the high-ceilinged living room, watched Gansey compliment the stained-glass windows, watched Gansey correctly guess what type of wood the ten-foot dining table was made of. He watched Gansey become the boy Adam had first met, with his purposeful tan and light insults and five-pound watches. Adam watched him become Harvard Gansey, rich Gansey.  _ Richard _ Gansey. 

Adam hadn’t realized Gansey had become anything else to him. But apparently, he had. Because as Adam watched this Gansey, he longed, with an ache that startled him, for the other one to return. 

Adam Parrish had had enough of mourning. 

He turned and walked away. 

* * *

Adam knew the Mayor’s house better than one might think. 

He had been friends with the mayor’s granddaughter, Victoria, in elementary school. He’d been invited to a few birthday parties here. Some guys said that Victoria liked him. Back then, Adam had still been part of a group – the class was easily divided into boys and girls. Adam was quiet but desirable because he knew a lot about cars and trains. Vicky probably liked him for his quietness, mistaking it for mystery. Some people think quiet is just a blanket muffling some symphony, some secret language just waiting for the right listener. But Adam knew the truth: underneath his quiet, there was just plain silence. 

Vicky quickly tired of him. Adam didn’t blame her.

He was on the third floor now. The ceilings were sloped here, but at the peak of the roof there was a skylight, letting in the last of the feeble evening light. Adam stood directly underneath it and tilted his chin up. The whole house smelled of lemon cleaner, expensive wood, ivory soap, the absence of dust. 

Which was to say, it smelled like Gansey. 

Adam closed his eyes.

“God, not very wheel-chair friendly, is it?” 

Gansey came up the narrow staircase, holding his elbows in against himself to squeeze through. His cheeks were flushed with champagne and extroversion. 

  
Adam stepped out from under the skylight. “You must have missed the elevator. First door on your left.”

Gansey stared at him. Adam cracked a grin. Gansey shook his head, smiled at the floor, and stepped into the room. 

Below them, the party was a distant beast, a growling stomach. Probably, Adam thought, it wanted Gansey back. 

Gansey swayed his head around the room, a drunken version of appraisal. “I saw you come up the stairs.” It was a question. 

“Just needed some quiet.” 

“Are you having a good time?” This, somehow, was an answer. 

Adam let his head move in neither a nod nor a shake. There was a moment of silence, too long. “You’re good at this, you know.” He couldn’t stop some bitterness from leaking in. 

Gansey must have heard it, because he lifted his chin with a small, almost challenging smile. “Good at what?”

Adam shrugged. “Parties, I guess.” 

Gansey’s mouth went  _ ah  _ but made no sound. “Pretending,” he corrected. 

“Didn’t look like pretending to me.” 

Gansey walked over to the table beside Adam and stroked a finger over its dustless surface. Adam moved to the other side of the hall, leaning against the wall with his hands behind his back. They looked at each other through the dull patch of light: mirrors, but a bit dusty. 

Gansey said, “I know how you must see me, Adam.” 

Adam didn’t reply. It didn’t seem like he was meant to. 

A tepid smile sprouted on Gansey’s face. He sighed. “You have to understand I grew up here. Well, not  _ here,  _ obviously, but places like this. I’ve been to parties since I was a toddler. When I was seven, I learned how to speak French to properly greet our European guests.” 

Adam gave a disbelieving laugh, then worried this was wrong. But Gansey was doing the same, holding a hand out to Adam like,  _ you see?  _

Adam allowed, “You’ve had a lot of practice, then. 

“Practice,” Gansey repeated, smiling at the ceiling. “Practice is great when you have something to be practicing for.” 

This also seemed like something Adam couldn't have a reply for. 

Gansey looked at him. It was a look that silenced Adam instantly, made him hold his breath just to better hear what he had to say. It was a new Gansey, or maybe, it was a new part of the Gansey he had always known. “I know how you must see me. And I  _ hate  _ it. Every day it feels like I’m trying to prove that I’m not this guy, that I’m not  _ only  _ this guy, and then I go and be him anyway. I don’t want this, I  _ want  _ – _ ”  _

And then he stopped, as if realizing what he was saying, and how fast he was saying it. He looked to the left, to the right, furtive somehow. Despite himself, Adam felt a small thrill in his stomach Finally, something  _ happening.  _

Gansey said suddenly, “Do you wanna get out of here?” 

Adam watched him, unsure if he was joking. “We haven’t had dinner yet.” 

“Perfect time to slip out, then,” Gansey replied. Adam saw slivers of the other Gansey returning, one by one. Adam felt relief, giddy and abundant. But then something sank. 

Adam said, “Don’t think we need to leave just because of me. If you’re having a good time, I –”

But Gansey was shaking his head as if he already knew what Adam was saying. “No. What you’re hearing is,  _ Adam, do you want to leave?  _ But what I’m asking you is,  _ Adam. Can we please leave?” _

Then he smiled, and in an instant, he was the old Gansey again. The realer Gansey. Adam’s Gansey. 

They fled down the stairs, holding in laughter behind swollen cheeks. 

Through the party, through the people, through the front yard with its white, lit up canvas tents. No one was outside and the air was just dark enough for them to feel invisible. They ran down the hill, away from the house, their feet moving much too fast for their bodies. They ran and stumbled and Gansey was holding that stupid hat to his head and at the bottom of the hill they let themselves laugh openly, loudly, the noise of it like firecrackers in the air. Gansey stopped on the driver's side of the car and slapped both his hands on the hood, looking across at Adam. They were breathless. Gansey said, “Now what?” 

Adam had to take gulps of air before answering. Gansey looked exactly like himself, like he’d never been any different. Adam ached in the happiest way. He leveled his eyes on his friend, then yanked open the Pig’s beautifully hideous door. 

Adam said, “I have an idea.” 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

The sheet flapped softly in the wind. Gansey watched it ripple and bend against the breeze. Beside him, Adam worked a machine Gansey was quite unfamiliar with: a projector, a large and noisy thing. Currently, Adam was loading it with a film reel. 

Bringing Gansey out of his trance, Adam asked, “Could you use your phone as a flashlight? I just need to see – there, yes. But not like that because it’s bad for the film. Yes. There. Thank you.”

Gansey looked up doubtfully at the sheet again. “You’re sure it’ll work?” But he wasn’t really worried. Nothing seemed bad tonight. It seemed like even if this ancient thing exploded, he and Adam would find a way to make it into fireworks. 

“Yeah,” said Adam. “Gigi likes to watch her old movies and say which actors she had affairs with.” 

Adam was glad it was dark, because he suddenly blushed, then, realizing this might not be a thing Gansey would want to know about his own grandmother. But Gansey just laughed heartily, the flashlight jittering over the projector. 

“Okay,” Adam said, stepping back.

He flicked a switch and the machine began to whirl. Instantly, a small square of yellowed light flickered against the white sheet pinned to the clothesline in front of them. After a moment a black and white countdown appeared, moving shakily against the fabric. Gansey laughed delightedly. 

“Parrish, you glorious creature.” 

Crossing his arms, Adam smiled lightly, but Gansey could tell he was proud. 

They arranged the pillows they’d brought out and pulled open chips bags and snapped open coke cans and settled themselves in front of the screen, the light of the film shimmering against their faces. Gansey sat cross-legged like a kindergartener whose teacher had brought in a television on a rainy day.

On the make-shift screen in front of them, men in suits moved jerkily, the film opening up on a rainy street. 

  
“No sound?” Gansey asked. 

Adam shook his head. “I can’t seem to get it to work.” 

“No bother. We’ll just pretend it's silent instead. Let’s make up the dialogue.” 

They laughed and jeered at the men who appeared onscreen, mimicking their funny faces and weird, old-timey accents. They cheered when Gloria herself finally arrived on screen: a waitress at a smooth, velvety restaurant. She didn’t have a very big part but to Gansey and Adam, she was the star of the show. She shone in ways the rest of the cast didn’t, her skin smoother and her teeth whiter than anyone else. She wore an immense amount of makeup and was almost unrecognizable, but sometimes, when she laughed or spoke a certain way, Adam could see a clear, unquestionable gimmer of his own current Gigi in her. 

“She was so beautiful,” Gansey said, his eyes transfixed on his grandmother skipping around onscreen. 

After a moment, Adam felt the need to point out, “She looks like you.” 

Adam was embarrassed again, and wondered if Gansey would be offended by this. But Gansey only gave a huge smile and shook his head, not disagreeing, but flattered.

“More like Helen, really,” he said. But Adam could tell Gansey was proud.

Time passed gently, easily. 

Suddenly, Gansey straightened his spine, chin tilted up. “Shooting star!” 

He pointed sporadically, just in time for Adam to see the tail-end of a milky light streak through the sky. 

“Make a wish,” Gansey implored, shutting his eyes. He waited a second then scrunched his whole face up tight, as if wishing required physical effort. He let out a breath and looked over at Adam pleasantly. 

“There,” he said. “Did you wish?” 

Adam made his mouth smile. “Uh. No?” 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know if I really believe in that.” 

“Ah.” Gansey looked down. 

Instantly, Adam felt terrible. Trying to make Gansey look more like himself again, Adam said, “Yours looked like a good one, though.” 

Gansey laughed, plucking a single strand of grass up and pulling it taut between his fingers. “Would you like to know what it was?” 

“No, don’t tell me. Then it won’t come true.” 

Gansey’s head whipped up. “I thought you didn’t believe in it!” 

“Yeah. When it’s me,” Adam said through Gansey’s laughter. “If it’s my wish. Yours still has a chance.” 

“That,” Gansey said, “is some faulty logic, Adam Parrish.” 

“It’s the only one I got, Richard Gansey.” 

They both watched the blade of grass snaking through Gansey’s fingers. 

“What if,” Gansey hesitated, then dropped the grass, placed his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee and looked sideways at Adam.”What if a wish has to do with you? What then?” 

Adam tried to laugh. “ _ Did  _ your wish have to do with me?” 

But something about Gansey made Adam’s laugh wither and fall. Something was different. Everything about Gansey’s voice, his posture, his performed casualness – it was measured. 

Gansey said, “A bit of it.” 

Adam looked to the sky when he couldn’t look at Gansey anymore. The movie was still running, but their eyes lifted higher, higher. Gansey brought his knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms around them. Adam stayed perfectly still. 

Eventually, Adam said softly, “You don’t have to wish for me, Gansey.” 

Silence. A rustle. Adam felt Gansey’s eyes on him; the feeling was getting familiar. But Adam knew that he couldn’t, and probably shouldn’t, look back. 

Gansey replied, softer, “Don’t I?” 

Adam shook his head, and then shook it again. He had a bad feeling creeping up, grey and acidic. He tried for a smirk but his mouth felt performative and too dry. Adam cleared his throat, trying to sound playful. “Yeah, don’t waste your wishes like that. I’m a curse for wishes. Include me and they won’t come true.” 

Gansey looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable in the shifting light. Adam felt whatever he’d done, he’d done wrong.

Finally, Gansey said, “Well, we don’t want that, now do we.” 

And he was trying to laugh too, but it was all wrong, and they both knew it, but neither could figure out how to fix it. Incredibly, Adam felt worse than how he’d felt at the party. They sat, the sound of crickets thickening like summer heat around them. 

Then Gansey stood in one smooth gesture, wiping grass from his pants. The moment he broke the silence, Adam realized how deep it had been. 

Gansey asked swiftly, “Another drink?” He was already walking towards the house. 

“Sure.” But Gansey probably hadn’t heard him. He was already so far gone. 

As the door closed behind Gansey, Adam let his head fall between his knees. He breathed deep. 

“Nice, Adam,” he muttered. He looked up and over to the place where Gansey had been picking grass, gently touching the small patch of dirt he’d uncovered. Like a chicken pecking for food that simply wasn’t there.  When Gansey returned, he placed a coke can by Adam’s knee, then sat down slightly farther away than he’d been before. They watched the movie in silence. Gansey stopped picking at the grass. 

Adam watched Gansey’s still knuckles. Then his eyes moved upwards, upwards. Higher, higher. He finally looked up to Gansey’s face and saw that Gansey had been watching him, too. They looked at each other, the light of the film moving on their faces, shadows licking and curving around chins and noses and lips. Somehow, in the changing light, it was easier to look at him. Adam didn’t look away. He didn’t question what Gansey could possibly see. He just allowed himself to look at Gansey, objectively, unashamed, as if Gansey were a movie. Gansey looked like something new. He looked the way no one else had ever looked before. Adam just stared at him, trying to make himself understand. Like if he looked at Gansey long enough, he could finally comprehend whatever this feeling in his bones was, this feeling that pulled and pushed in equal measures and terrified Adam to his core. Looking at Gansey seemed like the solution.

Gansey looked back at him the same way. 

A light came on from the back deck, flooding both their faces, drawing the curtains. They both turned: it was Gloria in her silk nightgown, her shadow casting a long, skewed line on the lawn.

“Time to come in, boys. Sorry to break up the party, but the light hurts my eyes. We'll have more viewings, don’t worry. It’s only the opening weekend!” She laughed to herself, then turned without waiting for them. 

“Sorry.” Gansey’s voice was so low she couldn't possibly have heard it, and Adam wondered if the apology was meant for her at all. 

They stood up. Adam turned off the projector; darkness invaded them. He saw Gansey reach for it, but Adam said, “No, it’s fine. I’ll get it in the morning.” 

Gansey glanced up at the sky. “What if it rains?” 

“Won’t.” But for Gansey’s sake, Adam took the sheet from the line and threw it over the machine. Without the whirring sound, there was just another layer of silence. All the bugs seem to have gone to sleep. Adam could barely see Gansey, and he couldn't tell if he preferred it this way. 

Gansey said, “Well.” 

“Well,” Adam repeated. 

Gansey was only an outline. His voice said, “I’ll see you at the next screening?” 

“Yeah,” Adam replied. He wondered what it was Gansey could see of him. “I’ll be here. I’m a big fan.” 

Vaguely, he saw Gansey’s chin move. “Goodnight, Adam.”

“Goodnight, Gansey.”

Fearing that his eyes would adjust to the dark and he would have to see Gansey fully again, Adam turned too quickly and made his way back to his car. By the time he was in the driver’s seat, all the lights in the house were off except Gansey’s, dimly shining from the top floor. 

Adam let himself watch for a moment, then started the car. The sky was as dry as it had ever been. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan and Noah appear briefly in this chapter yay! Also, first fight: yay!

Something had changed. 

Gansey guessed that both must have felt it, this weird shift in the silence between them, but acknowledging it seemed like a conversation neither really wanted to have. They saw less of each other, though not necessarily of their own choice. Adam suddenly had a surge of work shifts, and Gansey had become more preoccupied with taking care of Gloria. 

Since her incident before the party, she only seemed to get worse.

She denied her condition, of course, which irked Gansey to the extreme. But she had gotten weaker and found even getting out of bed to be strenuous. Gansey took it as his sole responsibility to be near her at most times. He only really saw Adam when they would drive to Gloria’s doctor appointments together, and even then they barely spoke, exchanging lukewarm smiles in the rearview mirror. Alongside his growing anxiety for Gloria, Gansey also began to feel a new, dull feeling which he quickly identified as loneliness, and proceeded to quickly repress, as well. He knew Adam was busy, but he also knew the loneliness was a result of Adam’s absence. Gansey hated that this feeling took priority, and he spent a good chunk of his time diligently ignoring it and distracting himself. 

He and Chester cooked Gloria a meal almost every day. Gansey moved her bed to the living room so that she wouldn’t have to face the stairs anymore. He called Ronan and Noah a lot more too, much to Noah’s excitement and Ronan’s annoyance. He told them about the town, about Gloria, about Helen. He tried not to mention Adam, but it slipped out, anyway. 

“He’s a farmer?” Ronan’s voice was thin on the other side of the phone, but he didn’t sound displeased. “Hot.” 

Gansey sighed and watched the orange sky. It was still plentifully light out, but Gloria had been going to bed earlier and earlier lately. He tried not to think about it. “He’s not a farmer. He does yard work.” 

Noah’s voice came through, softer because Ronan never let him take the phone: “Yards are like small farms. So he is a farmer. A baby farmer.” 

Ronan said, “He’s a baby farmer, alright.” 

Gansey credited the redness of his cheeks to the heat outside and nothing else. “He works a few jobs. He just helps Nana out.” 

“Is he helping you out, too?” 

“Ronan, I will hang up this phone.” 

Ronan said, “Promise?” and Noah burst into laughter. 

Gansey smiled despite himself. He missed them, but this kind of homesickness was something he had long since learned to live with. He let Ronan tease him for a few minutes more then said goodbye, letting his phone fall to his lap. The air around him was devilishly silent, like still water just waiting to be disturbed. Gansey tapped his finger against his phone one, two, three times. He watched the sun sink lower. Then he called Adam.

* * *

Adam’s house was cozy and blue and absolutely canopied by trees. Gansey felt the shift in temperature as he stepped out of the Camaro: the difference between his grandmother’s sun-bitten fields and Adam’s shady alcove. Even just the look of Adam’s house made Gansey's heart slow down. Smoke billowed gently from the chimney, and a radio played dully inside. Gansey could feel the Adam-ness radiating. 

When Gansey had called him, Adam had offered to come to Gloria’s, but Gansey declined. Besides desperately wanting to see where Adam lived, Gansey also wanted to be alone with him. 

In the kitchen, Adam passed Gansey a beer as he sat down at the table. Gansey took it, confused. “I thought you didn’t drink?” 

“For guests.” 

Adam pulled a carton of milk from the fridge, his back to Gansey. Instantly, Gansey knew it would be easier to say this to Adam without looking at his face, so Gansey rushed to say it, his words stumbling and flimsy: “I think I need to put Nana in a home.” 

Adam turned, very slowly. He put the milk down on the counter. 

“Adam?” 

“No, you don’t,” Adam said calmly. “You don’t need to do anything.” 

Gansey sighed. “Her condition is getting worse, she’s getting older, and I just  _ worry  _ about her, I--”

“Is that why you want her in a home? So you don’t have to worry about her, even think about her at all?”

Gansey’s head fell back a little. “You can’t really think that.” 

“You wanna know what I think, Gansey?” Adam placed his palm down firmly on the counter. “I think it really doesn’t matter what you do. Because, firstly, you and I both know she will never voluntarily go to a home, and, secondly, because whatever happens, you will immediately forget about it the moment you return to your real life in a few weeks.” 

Gansey looked at the beer can instead of Adam. He spoke very calmly. “This is my real life. And I didn’t say I was going back.” 

Adam laughed harshly. “Yeah? You’re just going to skip out on Harvard and stay here?” 

“Why not? That’s what you did, right?” 

Adam became very silent. He looked to the wall above Gansey’s head. Gansey knew he had struck a nerve, but couldn’t stop himself. “Nana told me you got into Yale. Your senior year. Congratulations. That’s really hard. I know, because I barely passed my SATs. She said you had flying colours.” 

Adam nodded once, then turned his head so Gansey saw him in profile. There was a line across his forehead. “What else did she say about me?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” Gansey said, noticing the line lessen. It made him feel angry in a very juvenile way, and he raised his voice to counteract it. “Do you know why, Adam? Because you’re actually supposed to tell me these things yourself. We’ve known each other for months. You know everything about my family – you practically  _ are  _ my family – and what do I know about you? Nothing! I don’t know about your family or where you were born or, or why you didn’t go to Harvard!”

Adam took an exasperated breath. “Does it matter?” 

“It matters to me! It matters when you’re friends!” 

“ _ Friends. _ ” Adam spoke the word like it was a sour candy. 

Gansey felt a hurt bloom deep in his stomach, and it manifested itself as more yelling. “Sure, fine. We’re not friends. Great. Why did you keep me around then? For fun? Because you were bored?” 

Finally, Adam leveled his eyes on Gansey. They had either changed colour or grown shadows because they were very dark. “Just because someone’s life isn’t like yours doesn’t make it boring.” 

“Jesus, Adam, I  _ know  _ that!”

“You don’t, Gansey! You want to, and you think you do because you think you know everything, but you don’t. You wanna know why I didn’t go to Harvard?” He spread out his arms, gesturing to the whole of the cabin: dripping faucets, cracked windows, buzzing air conditioner. “Look around. Not everyone  _ exists _ like you.” 

Gansey shook his head, though he knew it was wrong. “No. No. Don’t make this about that. There are scholarships, there are ways to do it. Did you want to go to Harvard? You didn’t have to stay here and care for her; you  _ chose  _ that.”

“Stop, Gansey.” Adam was almost laughing, but it was a terrible, imposter laugh. Nothing was funny. “Just stop. Listen, I’m sorry that your vacation here wasn’t as scenic as you wanted. I’m sorry that you’ve seen a week of what Chester and I have been dealing with for years. But --” 

“It’s not yours to deal with!” Gansey stood up. 

“Whose, then? Yours? How the fuck is that working out?” 

Gansey stopped, his mouth still open. He could hear only birds chirping and Adam’s intensified breath. He looked down at his beer on the table, water dripping off its edges. 

“She’s not your grandmother, Adam,” Gansey said finally, evenly. “As much as you want her to be. And it’s not your choice.” 

Adam regarded him for a second, then scoffed. “Wow,” he said. “Maybe you were right to begin with. Maybe you really can’t stop being an asshole for more than a few minutes.” 

This time, Gansey felt the hurt like a blinding colour, and he closed his eyes against it. 

When he opened them again, Adam was at the back door, pulling on a windbreaker. “I’m going for a walk. You should probably not be here when I get back.” 

Gansey stayed silent. He had no more words to band-aid with. 

Adam pulled open the door roughly, dull light spilling onto his features, nestling into the lines on his forehead. Gansey felt sick with the possibility that this was the last time he would see Adam. 

“Don’t put her in a home, Gansey,” Adam said quietly. He turned to face Gansey. He was a stranger; his voice was an ash pile. “It’ll make you feel guilty when you come back and visit her in another five years.” 

He slammed the screen door on the way out. 

  
  


* * *

When Adam got back, Gansey was long gone. Adam’s phone was face down on the floor, because of all the vibrating. Adam picked it up and stared at his barren reflection in the black screen. Without even turning it on, he already knew something was wrong. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a teeny TINY bit of more angst in this chapter but i PROMISE it gets softer later on and in the next chapter and this story isn't as sad as i've recently made it out to be fhsdjfsh. hope u enjoy!!!

The hospital doors weren’t opening. 

  
Adam stared at his rain-soaked reflection. They were the kind of doors that were supposed to open automatically, with no handles. Adam just stood, dumbfounded. Finally, he pulled his sleeves over his fingers and pried at the doors; they were stubborn, like a lobster that didn’t want to be opened, but eventually they did. Adam saw a figure sitting distantly down the hall, and he half-ran towards it. 

Gansey sat alone, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He didn’t notice Adam come into the waiting room. Adam gently touched Gansey’s shoe with his own, and Gansey’s head snapped up. 

“Sorry, hey,” said Adam.

“Oh.” Gansey’s face relaxed a bit. “Hey. Sorry. You didn’t have to come all the way down here. I just wanted to call you, so that you’d know a– ” 

“Don’t be dumb,” Adam replied. He looked around the room, though they were obviously alone, except for a very bored-looking man behind a desk. “Of course I came. How is she?” 

Gansey laughed weakly, holding his hands out. “Alive? I assume? They say she’s resting now. Visiting hours are over, and apparently I can’t see her until tomorrow.”

“Did you tell them you’re her –” 

“Yes, Adam, obviously I told them I’m her grandson, but that clearly didn’t get me very far.” 

Adam sat down silently next to Gansey. Gansey opened his mouth as if to say something, then didn’t. Adam folded his hands in his lap and stared down at his nails. He had already bitten them down on the way here, and now a small sliver of blood blossomed on one finger. Adam put it to his mouth. He wondered if the hospital would kick him out if they saw he was openly bleeding. He wondered what a guy like Gansey would have to do to get kicked out of any place, at all. He glanced over – Gansey was staring in front of him, his hands up by his mouth like he was praying. Adam somehow knew Gansey wasn’t the praying type, but the desperation in the look was the same. 

Adam cleared his throat. “I could try talking to them.” 

“Sure,” Gansey said, falling back. Lower, he murmured, “Suppose they’ll have an easier time believing you’re her grandson, anyway.” 

Adam didn’t hesitate. “They might, Gansey, considering the fact that her actual grandson is acting like a literal baby.” 

Gansey didn’t say anything, didn’t look at Adam. 

Adam scoffed, shaking his head. “Why did you even ask me here, then?” he asked, standing.

“Adam.” Gansey reached for Adam’s arm, his hand touching Adam’s wrist, instead. Adam pulled away quickly, something like anger rising.

“I’m sorry,” Gansey said, falling back. “That was… I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

Adam pulled his sleeve over where Gansey had touched him. Something about Gansey’s posture made Adam feel like he ought to be behaving gentler. 

“It’s fine,” Adam said carefully. He understood that he was supposed to be the rational one here, and it was throwing him off. Gansey’s constant, blinding light was flickering and inconsistent: the difference between sun and candlelight. Adam found himself burning more purposefully just so that they could both be lit again. “Your grandmother is in hospital, so you have a right to be a little, you know…” 

“Dicky?” 

The joke startled Adam so much that a laugh escaped him like a cough, loud and unstoppable, the noise of it amplifying off the empty walls. The man behind the desk looked over at them, eyes narrowed. Adam hurriedly sat again, his hand over his mouth. 

“ _ Shhh _ ,” Gansey was saying, but he too was turning pink. They sat there filled with stupid, stifled laughter until they calmed. Adam felt a million times lighter. 

They both glanced at the desk guy. ‘Should I try?” Adam asked, leftover laugher escaping. 

Gansey grinned at him. “What do we have to lose?” 

Adam walked to the desk, flattening his smile. The guard –nurse? –doctor? –looked up, eyes unchanging. 

“Excuse me, sir. I’m sorry to bother you, but I believe Gloria Gansey was admitted here, and I was wondering if we might be able to see her?” 

The man stared at Adam a full three seconds before answering. “I’ll tell you what I tells him.” He pointed at Gansey with his pinky. “Visiting hours are over. They open at nine tomorrow, at which point you may visit a patient, if you are a relative. You a relative?” 

“I’m, uh, she’s my –” 

“Grandmother.” Gansey was at his side suddenly, arms crossed over the counter. “She’s our grandmother. He’s my cousin.” 

“Cousin.” His eyes passed between the two of them. “Well then your  _ cousin  _ should have no problem repeating what I already said: nine am, tomorrow. That clear enough for you, chief?” This last part was to Gansey.

Gansey knocked stiffly on the counter, once, twice. He smiled tightly. “Absolutely. Thank you so much for your help and your refreshing approach to customer service.” He t urned and walked away without another word. 

Adam caught up to him halfway down the hall. “We’ll come back right in the morning.” 

Gansey nodded, staring forward, jaw tight. Adam didn’t know if they were back to fighting or if right now Gansey was just mad at everything and Adam happened to be in the vicinity. 

Adam tried for a joke. “Cousins?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Gansey said, cringing slightly. “Thought it was better than brothers.” 

“We don’t look that much alike, I guess.” 

Gansey smiled an odd smile, still not looking at Adam. “Not why I didn’t say brothers.” 

Adam didn’t understand, but Gansey didn’t elaborate. They walked in stride until they got to the parking lot. Adam had pulled in a few spots away from the Pig. They stopped at the edge of the pavement, looking down.

“Thank you,” Gansey said. “For coming all the way out here.” 

“No problem.” 

“I mean it, Adam. She would be so glad you’re here.” He looked out at the landscape past the hospital and added, more to the fields than to Adam, “She loves you, you know.” 

Adam scoffed. 

“No, no, I’m not saying that to be an asshole. I just mean, she loves you. I hope you know that.” 

Adam could only nod, meekly. They said their quiet goodbyes.

Adam slammed his car door shut. He rubbed aggressively at his face before pulling himself up, staring straight out the window. He couldn't help but let his eyes drift to the Camaro, also still parked. He could see the vague shape of Gansey: the silhouette of his glasses, the dark strands of hair jumping off his forehead. He watched Gansey turn the keys in the ignition. The car stalled. 

Again. Again, it stalled. 

Adam knew he shouldn’t look, but it felt so rare: Gansey, unwatched. The idea was too intriguing to ignore. When the car stalled a fourth time, Gansey laid his head against the steering wheel. Adam watched as a movement appeared in the dim light – Gansey’s hands shook slightly, despite the tight grasp on the wheel. And Gansey’s hair was moving, too. No, not his hair. His whole head. All of him, shaking. Adam watched as Gansey, unwatched, came undone. 

Adam was moving before he could think of whether it was right. Gansey opened the door as Adam approached. 

“Hey, hey,” Adam said, as Gansey threw his legs out of the car, still sitting. He could hear Gansey’s breath now; it was faster and deeper than it should have been. Adam dropped to one knee and put a hand on Gansey’s leg. Immediately, Gansey gripped Adam’s wrist, tight and unwavering. Adam squeezed back in reply, hoping Gansey understood. He waited while Gansey took breaths. He was looking down, one hand on the side of his head, his lips trembling. Adam felt the small rocks digging into his knee, but didn’t think of moving. 

When Gansey’s breath got softer, Adam asked, “Should I do anything?” 

Gansey took in a small gasp of air. “I’m so sorry, yeah. I’ll be fine in a minute.” His voice was frail. He tightened his grip on Adam’s wrist. “Just don’t leave for a sec, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“I won’t leave for any secs,” Adam replied, and Gansey laughed soundlessly. They waited until the sounds of crickets came back into focus. Gansey's breath had stilled, and, quick as it had come, his hand left Adam’s wrist. Gansey sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. Adam sat back more comfortably on the pavement. 

Gansey looked around them, then down at Adam. “Just your typical Friday night, huh?” 

Adam brushed little rocks off his knee. “I had no idea it was Friday.” 

Gansey blew out a long breath, part of it a laugh. “I am so sorry, Adam.” 

“Gansey, don’t. Don’t worry about it.” 

“No, really. Even if I had warned you that this happens sometimes. It’s not your responsibility to –”

“It isn’t a  _ responsibility,  _ Gansey. This is, like, basic. You wouldn’t have done the same for me?” 

Adam realized they were dangerously close to fighting again and shut his mouth.

Gansey looked up, wary, but not of Adam. He mused, “All night, you’ve been so kind to me. All night. Do you know what I’ve done all night? All I’ve done is yell at you, then apologize for it, then yell at you again.” 

Adam stood up. “That’s not true,” he replied finally. He wiped dust from his pants. “Sometimes you don’t yell, you just talk in a stern voice.” 

Gansey laughed, turning back in his seat. He groaned when he saw the steering wheel. “This fucking  _ car.”  _

“I’ll drive you back to my place,” Adam said without thinking. He was suddenly embarrassed, and rushed to explain. “I have a spare room. I’m closer to the hospital than Gigi is, and we’ll come right back in the morning and get your car fixed. Okay?” 

Now Gansey  _ was  _ wary of Adam. “Is this just because I nearly cried in front of you?” 

“Well, I’d usually take a person out to dinner first, but.” Adam grinned, lopsided.

Gansey grinned too, shaking his head. “Are you sure?” 

“Gansey.” Adam’s voice was low. “Yes. It’s very late. Please, get in the car.”

Gansey knocked on the steering wheel three times, then pulled himself out of the Camaro. Adam turned and started to walk. Behind him, he heard Gansey’s mouth open, but Adam said, “If you apologize one more time, I’m changing my mind.” 

Gansey closed his mouth. 

As they got into Adam’s truck, Gansey muttered, “Worst Uber driver of my life.” 

Adam reached for his seatbelt, turning his head to hide his smile. ‘Yeah? One time I had a guy with this weird orange car that wouldn’t even start."

Gansey pressed his lips together in a thin smirk. Adam started the car. He felt Gansey’s eyes move from the night sky back to him. 

“I’m not going to reply to that,” Gansey said, his voice bent around a smile, “in case I make you change your mind.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


At four a.m, Adam found Gansey sitting on the stairs of Adam’s back porch, staring at the forest. He was wearing the oversized white t-shirt Adam had given him and his glasses magnified the circles under his eyes, pale like fallen crescent-moons. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Adam asked, stepping out.

Gansey turned and gave him a weak smile. “Just your typical Friday night.” 

“Saturday morning,” Adam corrected, and sat down next to Gansey. They watched the sleeping beast of the black forest. 

“It’s so quiet out here.” Gansey’s voice sounded small compared to the openness of the air. “I used to think it was because of the noise of the city that I couldn’t sleep, but even here…” he trailed off. 

Adam only nodded.

Gansey pushed his glasses up on his nose. He took a breath. “I’m sorry. About what I said. About – well, I guess about everything, really.” 

“Now would actually be a really good time to say ‘I told you so’.” 

“No.” Gansey turned to Adam. The t-shirt hung loosely and Adam had to avert his eyes from Gansey’s collarbone. “No, you were right.” He smiled, incredulous, to himself. “I think part of me was actually selfishly mad that you didn’t go to Harvard because we would have been in the same year and I could have known you sooner.” 

Adam scoffed, trying to hide his expression, unsure of whether his face looked pleased or embarrassed. “You wouldn’t have talked to me at Harvard.” 

“No, we’d be best friends.” Gansey was nodding, like he was certain of it. “Best friends.”

Adam looked down. Sometimes he reminded Adam so much of Gloria it hurt. 

“You shouldn’t stay out too long,” Adam said. “All sorts of creatures in these woods.” 

“Oh yeah? Well, let them have me, then.” He spread his arms out, yelling into the forest. “You hear that, creatures? I’m here for the taking!”

The forest answered with silence and Gansey’s frail echo. Gansey looked to Adam, triumphant. “See? They don’t want me. I’m too bony to eat, anyway.”

Adam laughed. The silence lingered. Gansey put his chin in his hand and hung his head lopsidedly, looking simultaneously exhausted and so very far from sleep. Around him, Adam could smell wet grass and wood and the smell of it all brought him right back to childhood. Usually, he tried to run away from this part of his mind, but for some reason, whether it was because of Gansey’s proximity or the exhaustion or the empty silence just begging to be filled with words, Adam instead began to verbalize it. 

“My mom used to read me this book,” he said. “When I was little. To put me to sleep.” 

Gansey lifted his head up and nodded at Adam. He made listening an active verb. 

Adam took a breath and continued. “It was about these two sisters, and they go to this cottage. One night, the younger one sees all these monsters appear at the edge of the forest. Hundreds of them. And they don’t do anything – they just stand there. And of course, the older sister is freaked out, so she builds this huge wall all around the cottage to protect them. And they think they’re safe for a bit, but then the monsters start, like, breaking down the wall and climbing and getting in anyway, and they’re all standing around the house. The older sister is scared but the younger kind of loves it, because she sort of likes the monsters, and she’s just so bored being alone at this cottage all the time.” 

Adam stopped, lifting his chin to the forest. “I would – when she finished reading it, I would ask her if we could build a wall, too. And she would say that we don’t have to build a wall, because if we build a wall, then the monsters will think they have a reason to come visit us. They’ll think we have something they want. I know she probably thought I was scared of the monsters, but I think I was like the little sister. I think I actually wanted the –” 

“ – monsters to come.” Gansey finished at the same time as Adam. They looked at each other. Gansey looked more awake than ever before, the circles under his eyes rising. Adam found it was getting harder and harder to look at him, especially as he began wanting it more and more. Adam looked to the sky, instead.

Gansey said, “Your mom sounds really nice.” 

Adam felt his heart still, a little. “She does." 

The stars shone their agreement. 

  
Adam stood up. “Don’t stay up too late. Early. Whatever.”

Adam turned. He heard Gansey’s mouth open in an _ A  _ sound, but then Gansey stopped. Adam pretended he hadn’t heard anything at all. Some things, he knew, were just so much easier when disregarded. 

He let the screen close gently, so that it didn’t startle Gansey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm @adamnsey on tumblr!!! come say hi!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My fav chapter :-) ..... perhaps... some Tenderness? Finally? And there's art at the end!!!! It's done by @billywixxan on Tumblr -- go check them out !!!!! I am so thrilled with the way the comic came out and so honoured to have my writing in art form like that. Hope u guys like it also thank u for all the kind beautiful comments I've gotten on this story - it makes my day every time I read them and I am just so ecstatic that people are enjoying it. AHHH!!! Okay hope u like this chapter sorry its kinda long ok BYE

They went to visit Gloria first thing in the morning. She looked like herself, only less. 

She was pale, her skin translucent and thin like her bones were threatening to poke right out. Her hands still shook, but she smiled enormously at both Adam and Gansey, giving them frail kisses on cheeks. From her hospital bed, she apologized for the trouble, as if she’d merely arrived late for a brunch date. 

Outside her room, the doctor explained to them that it wasn’t so much her fall that was painful – it was the hours she had spent sprawled on the bathroom floor, calling for help until Chester found her. As he listened, Gansey rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if he didn’t trust himself to say a single word. 

But inside, Gloria slurped, seemingly unbothered, on an orange popsicle. “ _Please,”_ she implored once again, “no pity. No babying. I get enough of that from your sister and parents.” 

Beside her, Gansey lifted his mouth from his hand only to say, “I’m just so sorry I wasn’t there, Nana.” 

“Dicky.” She grabbed his fretful, steady hands in her unbothered, shaky ones. “You’re not my prisoner. I don’t expect you to watch over me. Honestly, I’d probably resent you if you did.” She laughed singularily, then went back to her popsicle.

  
Adam caught Gansey’s eye, but they both looked away quickly. 

They only visited for about an hour. Chester was coming to visit in the afternoon and Gloria was so drowsy from her pain medication that she practically shooed them out. 

“Adam?” she called as they left. 

Adam turned and clung to the doorframe, his knuckles white. There was something like relief on his face. “Yeah?”

“Dear, would you mind checking on the girls? You know how they get when they’re alone for too long.” 

Adam’s grip loosened. “Of course.” 

Leaving, Gansey leaned in and asked, “The girls?” 

Adam only grinned, spinning the keys around his fingers. “They’re gonna love you,” he said. Triumphantly, for a moment, some anxiety fled from Gansey’s face.

Everything was not alright, but it was closer. 

* * *

After Adam had gotten the Camaro running again, without any real discussion, they returned to Adam’s house. 

The afternoon was just settling into itself, the sun breaking apart against the leafy tips of trees. Cicada bugs and heat hummed thickly in the air. Adam watched Gansey struggle towards the house, his shirt loaded with eggs. “The girls” had produced enough eggs for two cartons to be left at Gloria’s, and so they took the rest to Adam’s. Gansey had been both apprehensive and charmed by the chickens – intrigued enough to collect eggs, but startled when one clucked or ran at him. Adam watched him the whole time. He, too, was both apprehensive and charmed.

Inside, Gansey insisted on making them scrambled eggs, pointing out that neither of them had eaten for a full day. As he said so, Adam’s stomach instantly groaned in agreement. 

“Also,” Gansey added, searching Adam’s fridge for cheese, “I want to prove that I can cook for myself.” 

Adam snorted and kicked off a shoe. “Gansey, I believe that you can cook for yourself.” 

“And that’s why I’m doing this.” Gansey triumphantly threw down a block of cheddar. “So that your belief stays that way.” 

Adam rolled his eyes, but showed him where the pans were.

As Adam sat at the table, watching Gansey’s back scurry and shift, he realized he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself. It had been so long since he hadn’t had to think about what next: where to drive, which meal to make. He considered reading, but it’d been so long since he’d read for pleasure. He intertwined his fingers, then untangled them. He watched the afternoon sun slant and eclipse behind Gansey’s head. Gansey was whistling, or trying to: it was mostly musical air. But if Adam closed his eyes, he could pretend it was the wind, and he felt at peace. 

Then Gansey’s whistling stopped. His back stilled.

“Adam.” His voice was quick with panic. “Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam.” 

He stared out the window above the stove. Adam joined him. 

At the cusp of Adam’s yard, right where cut grass met tangly forest trees, a black bear lumbered slowly up and down, head inquisitive. Adam laughed breathily.

Gansey’s hand was frozen over the pan, his eyes fearful as if the bear was inside with them, rather than twenty meters away. “Should I be scared?” 

Adam glanced at him. “Are you?” 

“No,” Gansey replied steadily. His hand fell gently to the counter. “I’m waiting for you to tell me if I should be.” 

Adam let out a content, contemplative sigh. Gansey’s shoulders relaxed. 

“She’s just a teenager. Looking for food, probably,” Adam said. 

The bear was on hind legs now, sniffing up a tree trunk. Gansey let out a soft, disbelieving laugh to match Adam’s. 

Gansey’s eyes were less fearful. Adam said, “Don’t worry. We only need to worry if we see the mama.” 

“Does one typically have the pleasure of _seeing the mama?”_

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Adam said. But he saw Gansey’s skin was still pale, like Gloria’s had been. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” Gansey replied, still staring. Then he blinked, chin dropping. “Yes. Of course.”

He resumed stirring the eggs, distracted. He shook his head slightly, with an odd smile. “Sorry. I swear, for a second, it was just like when I would see bees. I was just – stuck.” 

“Oh.” Adam felt instantly bad for any joking tone he’d used. “I forgot. I’m sorry if –” 

“ _No,”_ Gansey assured, turning to face him. Gansey’s face was so close it was like looking in a mirror. “No, it’s good. It’s – what’s it called? Exposure therapy. I had this therapist who swore that was the be-all-end-all to mental illness. But maybe Sharon had a point.” 

He turned back to the eggs. Adam turned to the window, but the bear was gone now. Gansey resumed whistling. Adam took a small step back so he stood just behind Gansey, but his eyes didn’t leave the window. There was the kind of silence in a conversation that was a pause, not an end. 

Softer than before, Gansey asked, “Are you tired?” 

At once, Adam realized he was exhausted. He wondered if this was Gansey’s purpose here: to remind him when he needed to perform necessary actions like eating and sleeping.

Adam shook his head before realizing Gansey couldn’t see him. He said, stunted, “No.” 

And then he yawned. Gansey heard it, chuckled, then he yawned, too. 

“Ha.” Adam rubbed his eye with this knuckle. “Got you.” 

“Mad man,” Gansey replied, a smile accenting his words. Then: “You can rest if you want. While I cook.” 

“No, I…” Adam started, but stopped. Gansey’s words hit him in a slow, soft strike – a punch that delivered intensity not with the speed or force, but with the enormity of the fist. _Rest._ You can rest. When was the last time, Adam thought, that he’d rested? Had he ever? He had slept and passed out and been hit so hard he didn’t know if he was awake or asleep, but had he ever rested? Would he even know how, if he tried? 

What was it like to not have a reason to get up, but in a good way? 

Rest. 

He considered it for a moment: going to bed and putting his head down – because that was how people rested, apparently – and closing his eyes and opening them a few minutes later into Gansey’s stupid mint-green polo shirt and yellow eggs. But he didn’t want to go to his room. He wanted to be somewhere good. He wanted to rest someplace he actually wanted to be. 

Clinging this thought tightly to his chest like a shield, Adam gently rested his head against Gansey’s shoulder blade. 

At once, he felt Gansey still. It was not the same kind of still as when he’d seen the bear. 

Adam cursed himself for not being the kind of person who could do this naturally. He wished touch wasn’t a foreign language for him, something he stumbled through and struggled to translate. He wished he could be like the Ganseys – passive kisses on cheeks, arms thrown over shoulders thoughtlessly, fingers plucking up strands of hair. But he wasn’t, and he’d never be, and he’d always be weird, but maybe this was better. Maybe this was exposure therapy. 

Or maybe this was a terrible idea.

With a small sigh, Adam began to lift his head, but then he felt Gansey turn. Adam shut his eyes tighter and his lips moved to form an apology, but suddenly Gansey’s hand was holding his arm, not tight but not loose, either. Keeping him in place. Then they were chest to chest. 

Adam hadn’t noticed how similar they were in height. Though they were almost at eye level with each other, Gansey didn’t look in his eyes. He looked lower. Adam could feel Gansey’s breath against his face, measured and intentional. 

Like a dare, or a question, or a promise, Gansey lifted his chin. 

Adam allowed himself one full look at Gansey’s face. With his eyes closed, chin lifted like this, it looked again like he was praying. But Gansey wasn’t the praying type, and neither was Adam. But Adam pretended. Was this how people felt when they prayed? Holy, cleansed, thrilled, filled, even when objectively nothing was happening?

But something was happening, and Adam couldn’t not see it. Adam couldn’t stop seeing Gansey’s parted lips, lifted to him. He couldn’t look away.

Something in Adam surged, unrestrained and doubtless. He fell. 

It was a second before Adam realized their lips were touching; it was so much realer than he anticipated. Gansey kept his mouth still, but pushed upwards slightly. Adam was only aware of Gansey, his mouth, his cautious movements. Adam pressed closer to him, closer and closer, his movements an answer to Gansey’s unsaid question. T _his is okay, this is okay, this is okay._ And Gansey, untethered, kept on taking him and taking him and taking him, as if Gansey had had his hands out this whole time and was just hoping that Adam would realize they were outstretched to him. Adam gave and Gansey took and his hands spoke the same word over Adam’s body, over and over again: _finally, finally, finally._

Gansey shifted his weight against the counter and Adam’s body curved to the new shape of his. Raising one hand to Adam’s jaw, Gansey set the other down against the counter to steady himself. 

“Shit,” Gansey said suddenly, not in a good way. Adam stumbled back from him.

“I’m –” Adam started to say, but Gansey was shaking his head, understanding Adam’s intent to apologize and vehemently rejecting it.

“No, no, no, no, no. Not you.” Gansey gasped a laugh then shook out his hand. He gestured with his head. “The stove.” 

Adam looked and saw the egg pan had slid off the circular burner – the one Gansey had just put his hand against. 

“Shit,” Adam said.

“It’s fine.” Gansey grimaced and grinned at the same time, shaking his head at himself. 

“Bathroom?” Adam suggested.

They tripped over to the bathroom. 

The space was not fit for two people, but Adam felt this was undeniably his fault and the need to fix it outweighed the awkwardness of the small space. Adam yanked on the water, then turned to Gansey. He stood behind Adam, holding his hand in the bend of his other arm as if it were a wounded animal. He was smiling patiently, sheepishly at Adam. Adam felt like the biggest asshole in the world. 

Adam gestured silently to the water, stepping aside. 

As Gansey submerged his pinkening hand, Adam tried to make himself look busy. It was hard in a room that used to be a closet. Gansey shut off the tap, shaking out his hand. 

He said, “Should, we, ah, put any cream on it or anything?” 

Adam swallowed. It did nothing for his dry throat. “No, wrapping. Like, bandages. I have some in the –” Adam reached past him above the sink. “Just.” 

“I’ll get out of your way.” Gansey looked left, then right, movements too big for the room. He squeezed past Adam to sit on the closed toilet. Adam had never wanted to be smaller. 

Adam turned and handed him the gauze unceremoniously. He was practically between Ganey’s knees. 

Gansey took the gauze, looked at it a moment, then, with an apologetic smile, held it back out to Adam. “Would you possibly be able to…?” 

Adam blinked. “Oh. Oh, sure.” 

Horrifically, he knelt in front of Gansey and took the gauze. Adam’s whole body felt hot – he didn’t want to think about what shade his face must be. Adam wrapped Gansey’s hand, trying not to touch him. 

From above, he felt a small wind part the hair on his head. Impossibly, Gansey had laughed, a small, timid thing that was mostly breath.

Adam asked, “What?”

Gansey said, “I just think this might have been the best first kiss I’ve ever had.” 

Slowly, something in Adam clinched, then broke. Letting his hands fall, he stared down at Gansey’s wrapped fingers. Something in him simmered – it was like anger, but sideways. It was like anger, but worse, because nothing would better it. Not hitting a wall or yelling or even kissing Gansey again. In that moment, Adam hated himself. He hated that he couldn’t kiss a boy without breaking down or burning him. He hated how pure and raw Gansey’s laugh was. He hated how good Gansey had tasted. He hated how good Gansey _was,_ how understanding and stupidly, radically _kind._

He hated that they were talking all stunted and simple and awkward now. It was his fault. 

He had the very acute feeling that he had just fucked everything up. 

Gansey’s voice, stark concern: “Adam?” 

Adam stood up, too hard, too fast. He stumbled out of the bathroom and down the hall, his back to Gansey. He rubbed at his eye with one sleeve: he wasn’t the crying type either, but currently he didn’t trust any part of his body. He let out a shaky, broken breath. 

His mouth still tasted like Gansey. Mint and black coffee. 

Behind him, Gansey emerged.

Before Adam could say it, Gansey did: “I’m sorry.” 

Adam turned. Gansey kept a distance, his arms crossed. His expression held enough other emotions to not be pity, and Adam was grateful. 

“I’m sorry,” Gansey repeated. “That was stupid. I say stupid things sometimes. When I’m nervous.” 

Adam lifted his head, apprehensive. He crossed his arms, too. They stood there, mirrors again, but much closer to shattering this time.

“I’m sorry, too,” Adam said finally. It wasn’t the right thing to say, but at least his mouth still worked. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Adam.” The gentleness of Gansey’s tone made something surge and burn in Adam again. 

Adam just gave him a look that said _don’t._

“What?” Gansey asked. His voice was becoming heated, too, like when they had fought. Adam was at once saddened at his anger and glad for the familiarity of it, happy that they could perhaps still salvage some kind of normalcy. “What do you have to be sorry for? Fixing me up? Being ceaselessly welcoming to me? Helping my elder grandmother with her most every wish?” 

Adam gave him another look. He didn’t know what he was trying to say with this one. 

Then Gansey’s mouth parted, as if something clicked. For the first time, his confidence visibly wavered, his head tilting down. “Or – or you’re sorry you kissed me,” he said. 

“Gansey,” Adam started, but even Gansey’s name was something exasperated and overwhelming in his mouth. Adam buried his face in his hands. 

There was a beat. Adam watched Gansey’s pants shift through the unsteady lines of his bony fingers. 

Then, Gansey said, softer, “It’s okay if you’re sorry. I just want you to know that I’m not.” 

Adam dropped his hands. He looked at Gansey, painfully, unbelieving, unconvinced. 

Gansey threw his hands up. “Okay, fine, yeah. I am sorry, actually.” He started nodding. His face was saying, _work with me here, Parrish._ “Yeah. I’m sorry I got flustered and went and burned myself and interrupted everything because if I hadn’t I really would have liked it to continue.” 

A laugh escaped Adam – a laugh at the improbability of Gansey, the absurdity of him. Gansey laughed a bit too, and they held each other’s gaze. Neither dropped it. Adam felt his anger wither.

“I’m not sorry about –” Adam gestured vaguely to the whole concept of kissing. “I’m sorry it happened that way. It could have gone better. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” 

“Worth it.” 

Gansey watched for a moment longer with his mouth open, a small noise on his tongue, but then thought the better of it and closed his mouth. Instead, he took a few steps forward and, with his good hand, reached out towards Adam’s cheek. 

From instinct, Adam closed his eyes. He willed himself not to flinch. He refused to be weird here. He refused to ruin this beautiful moment and beautiful boy with his own bullshit. He refused to let his father take another moment away when he wasn’t even here. He expected Gansey’s hand to feel sickeningly familiar, to be painful, somehow. 

But it wasn’t painful. Instead, it was like when his mother used to rub Aloe gel over his sunburns on summer nights. It was like the time he had held Lamb’s Ear in his hand until it crumpled. 

It wasn’t painful. It was Gansey. 

Adam opened his eyes. It was like looking into the sun during an eclipse after everyone has told you not to, but of course you’re going to anyway – it’s a fucking _eclipse._ Who knows when this will happen again?

Gansey’s eyes met his. Like they had always just been there, waiting. 

Gansey said, “Alright?” It was mostly a question. 

Adam swallowed. “Alright.” 

Everything was not alright, but many, many things were.

“Alright.” Gansey took a deep breath, dropping his hand and looking around as if remembering where they were. Some sort of trance broke, and they both laughed. 

“Right. Well. My hand feels a lot better.” Gansey held it up as proof. 

“Good. Great.” 

There was a silence, then Gansey started smiling at him. Adam grinned back.

Gansey said, “Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

* * *

This is the art made for this chapter!!! I cry every time I look at it!! its done by @billywixxan on tumblr and its so beautiful !!!!!!!!! hope u guys enjoy ah! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "choreography" (like, the position? how they stand? being at the stove?) of this kiss is unashamedly inspired by the kiss in a movie called "Big Eden". It's an incredibly nice and soft and gay film that has a happy ending and then I saw the kiss in it and I was like oh boy, that is Beautiful, let me imagine all my favourite ships doing that real quick. So yeah! I feel weird not mentioning that I was inspired by that movie, so please go watch if you want ! Promise you won't regret it!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @adamnsey on tumblr!!!! come say hi if u wish!!!


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